Sex, for me, is the sea.
Love is not for dry land.
Once I step in the sea
There is little I understand.
Not that I understand much outside the sea, either.
But on land I don’t suffer from a watery fever.
The sea takes me, in a way the land doesn’t.
The sea drowns me. Why do I find this pleasant?
I feel lost at sea. I cannot walk.
I kick and squirm, too overwhelmed by waves to talk.
She has invited me to an island. Why does she smile?
Why does she do that? Smiling all the while?
She wants me to bring history tracts and dry sticks.
On the island, she says, we will discuss politics.
I will move my things to the island now.
And keep dry. God knows how.