She molds a sandcastle while I ponder her
ear. Gold sinks through the soft flesh
and pierces my throat, as if it quaffed
salt water. What is it like
to fondle her ear with these lips,
flushed and searing? That is like diving, plunging,
losing one’s self in the sea of her
hair, in the wind surging and swelling.
That is like the endless stroking,
stroking, hoping to reach the shore,
like the rushing that now muffles the castle.
The tiny lobe does not hear
these words, sunburned, withering, mute.