Poetry

Intoxication

He took a bottle of rum, drank

from the neck, the way he'd tried with her

till she stiffened, pulled away, took a few paces to face the ocean-

waves, breath on breath, consumed in the sand, mauled the coastline gently.

He followed, offered the bottle:

a swig fuller than his, a swig more.

She turned and faced him:

The easiest thing in the world for you is a woman, you think?

Not You.

Not me

She strode barefoot, bare-legged,

from the empty bar to the empty beach,

into the sea, sank its deep persuasion to her thighs.

He followed, stood beside her.

If you have to maul someone, do it like this, like the ocean.

He slipped an arm about her waist and let the waves

draw them together, pull them apart.

Inside, the rum warmed her; she purred a little

as her feet sank further.

He sank deeper, but

did not move.

Michael Wilkinson

From A Net of Strange Voices, erbacce Press