When she crashes, I am there.
I think she lets me feel like no man has felt her before, in the bareness of the night.
My hands outstretched, fingers spread, hailing to a god.
The inner of my arms, wet and deliciously sticky.
When she crashes, I am there.
On ghostly rocks.
I drink her excess, my mouth agape In awe.
Salty coolness quenches my tongue, extinguishing its resistance.
I close my eyes and relish in the luxury to not see…but imagine.
When she crashes, I am there.
I stand against her persistence like an ancient tree whose roots are, deep, deep, deep.
From here, I listen to her weep, cry, crash,
Moan, and shout,
Deny, lie, kiss,
Whispering into the grungy crevices of the rocks.
I enjoy her rough and roaring rampage, no matter how minor.
When she crashed, I am there.
This is my love.