Kristin LaTour
October 2012

for Antoinette

I knew she was of the sea
from the green shimmer
of her body, and the seaweed
that coiled round her waist.

She lay on that rock
buoyed by life and the warm sea.
Her rounded breasts fell
to each side of her ribcage;
her arms reached down
to let her fingers play in the water.

I could not see her face,
turned as it was from mine,
but her hair, her hair
was what I wanted:

long as my leg,
curly as the chips that fall
from the boat maker’s plane,
brown as the wood planks
that shine on the deck.

I wanted to wrap my fingers
in the mass like fish hiding in coral.

I wanted to bury my face
in her neck and smell the salt sea.

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