Drink, Sink, Swallow- NaPoWriMo-Day 27

Foam at the mouth of the ocean. Driving through glass sandpaper surface
of breath. I remember it, the blankness of force underneath myself.
The walk of water too easy, I had to stroke the breast, breath of tide.
Tied. Uncertain of how to leave the body without a drink of sink.
The taste of brine, zest that shouldn’t go down so smoothly, but still does
and I start to pant, to find the break in the crest, to savor the pleasure
of an oncoming orgasmic euphoria, having to rush under a splendor
that drains the mouth, a gargle of resignation, maybe. More likely
a call to the mouth of the sea to swallow my drunk exhaustion, whole.


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