sea level
His spirit beckons
different than the rest.
It pulls

like the white light
of an August moon.
I am a coral meadow
bulging from the ocean floor,
cool seawater drenched
in a sting of brine, a cove

whose sand is
coarse and simple.
He siphons cold dark
winters from my deepest
waters and bathes me
in the incense
of his skin.

My flora opens
like oleander blossoms
after rain, to the colors
of his fire sky.

 Mia Moore