She was oceanbird, perched alone at pier end. Feathers ruffled
by sea breezes, her instincts honed by hurricane and salt.
She watched the horizon, beyond breakwater and buoy,
ready to be on the wing. Tired of searching the shore
for what has washed up, she wanted to soar, to plunge-dive to sustenance,
instead of dropping a shell, over and over, in hopes it cracked open.
She is ocean. Hungry, her tongue savors the taste of salt,
licked from clavicle, chest, crease of groin. Eyes closed,
she wants to be pulled under, to feel caress of kelp forests,
fleshy blades wrapping around her legs and waist,
holding her fast. Breasts buoyant, her lips break the surface.
Robin Elizabeth Sampson is a poet, writer, and blogger who refuses to be locked into a genre. Her poetry has appeared in various journals (print and online), chapbooks, and anthologies. She’s published erotica and she’s at work on a novel or two. She blogs as Erobintica.