Shore

It was blue, above & below, and stretched to the horizon.
In the centre was her beautiful face, eyes positioned as
mirrors to my own, the tip of her nose an axis 'pon which
wheel revolve.

To get to this point, and to return, extracts a level of
pain that perfectly balances the beauty of being here.
Little knobbles seek out holes in our soles to sit in and
make sore. It gets better the calmer you get, accept and
understand, the lighter you tread.

Reward like the tip of an iceberg shows itself as respite.
A trillion tiny particles in dense suspension, pneumatic
water moulds to my foot, I sink slightly, stir up a storm
on stepping off. My footprint becomes an expanding cloud,
becoming so dispersed as to appear to disappear,
traveling the ocean, encompassing whales, sharks, sea
horses/cucumbers/weed, dancing balls with countless raving
algae, settling on an underwater volcano, becoming glass
in its deep sea blasts...

The ocean breathes, its breathe is countless tiny tongues,
fluid fingers feeling rocks round, making stone smoother
and sand finer, making incredibly complex sea weed rafts
breathe and flow and travel, so we may watch some lonely
anemone blowing in water's wind, catching food for company,
seduced by smoothness, the natural way it calmly waves.

In embrace, she looks over my shoulder, watching waves;
I gaze up at greenery scaling the cliff, sun makes it
blaze, almost surreal, touching fluorescence.

Perched 'pon rocks orange with iron, surrounded by small
sharp pieces of flint, random chips farmed by ocean's
motion, deposited on the shore as history, a natural hint
of an ancient technology; then soft, ranging chalk like
oval bubbles suddenly froze and fell from the air.

There are flecks of iron in our eyes, splashed with ocean
blue, sky blue, cloud white like the froth of turning water,
small brown marks mirror pebbles on a clean beach, streaks
of dark sea weed green and deep red in our hair, the scalp
of a spider crab like a rock under our skin, coastal foliage
crystallised inside a nostril, salty water clear but definitely
here, like the fluid in our minds, horizon, saliva, warmth...

There are white lines tracing four arms, there are circles
on our chests, infinity cups her breasts, my central vortex
her funneling belly button, a slight tickle of third eyes,
a soft dust kiss down below, the tip of the nose, the cheeks
(split with a smile) the chin...

Cast off inventions applied by convention and be free,
not embarrassed to extend the range of our bubbling privacy.
We take this moment for ourselves, and we share it with nature,
with love, with what is real. 1, 2, 3...

We are submerged.