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Dawn Sea
Oat musk
rolling damp over the bones
of dawn
fingers limp
crawling through loved waves
of soft rocks
salt grass, kisses of downy plants
at shoreline's clay.
White blurs the star-sun
weak over a barcode ocean
of flesh pink,
the hips of floor cloud sway
feeling their way
towards day.
A bite of cold oceans speaks
its cruel mash eats
my feet sunk in the ivory mallow,
the towel of tomorrow
as moon-ink sorrows
sink away.
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