Heretic Beach
Topic: Poetry
You kiss like a heretic, esoteric,
possessing some secret knowledge,
twirling my tongue with yours, prehensile,
exorcising reluctance--undeniably
understated, a no-frills trade in spit.

We do not try to impress each other,
immersed in need like a baptism,
wholly naked to the waist,
touching softly, bodies like relics
that still hold up after all this time.

The beach beneath us is catholic,
endless and gritty, clinging to flesh
salty and wet, the ocean within reach,
coruscating with jellyfish like the touch
of your fingers tracing my hip.

The boardwalk booms above us,
a defiant congregation of drunkards
staggering as much from the dank night as the beer.
I cross your lips with my finger, eyeing you
like a strumpet enticing a sinner, suddenly bawdy,

facilitated, mated to boldness by the sea
swirling `round our feet, creeping up
bodies like a white lie, harmless and pleasant,
the toe-curling exaggeration of the truth,
a confession breaking on the dark horizon.

It comes in micro waves, mounting with moonrise
pulling the sea out of you, out of me
with the fury of ecclesiastic force;
lovers pooling in the sand, the boardwalk
secreting away our noisy apostasy.