The Long Green Dress

The fat hands of the sea
hoard everything — even
the beads on your forehead
belong to her. Every boulder,
another plum in her basket.
Every towering echo, her
vast brown chortle. I am told

She’s in love with the moon.
They meet on Kilimanjaro,
where she takes his bald
vagrant skull in her palms
and sways. People below
mountains know this —
they gather her lust in cups.

Once, I was in love with the sea,
tickled her skin with my toes
at the pier. She’d have none
of me yet. She wore a long
green dress. Her skirt
was trimmed in white.

Image: Sergey Pesterev on Unsplash

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