behind her clenched eyelids,
with arched back and tilted head,
in labored gasps and moans,
she’s immersed, being lead,
the blackness no longer black,
and the sheets no longer thread

she is transformed into fluid,
a rippling depth of dark and light,
please stop and please more,
seemingly at odds, but not quite,
he the maestro of the current,
in their duality, they ignite

skillfully she’s driven,
to her edge and back again,
as the moon pulls the tide,
and the tide pulls the sand,
where want turns to need,
and need begs with fisted hands

until his words open the dam,
and breaking waves over her flood,
in the surge of their tide,
and swell of their love,
his control and her surrender;
equilibrium, they’re whole

-image via Pinterest

9 thoughts on “Tidal

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