Onan

Alone on the beach of my body
The sands are not tan but black, putrid
black
There will be no crashing waves of skin
against my grain and I'm sure my tides will
lead you to where you think you ought to
go
My gentle rocks, small and gelatinous,
consist of tiny pours and compromised
movements
The reef is a pillow and I cry a hefty load of
salt