a response to Max Pechstein's "At the Water (Am Wasser)"
the molding of two lovers over the ocean's wake
forms a body firm and one softly aching through eyes -
in what dire sands shall these two finally move
closer to the sea where passions flow?
she leans over as he picks up a stone - a token for himself,
something from the water, he inspects and thinks not
of her smooth body, worn with time, worn with everything
but the firm pumpings of his body's love
he looks down and she looks down, she at him,
he at the sands, the waters, thinking not of her
and her potential love, but instead of himself as man
begging the ocean and sands for something dear
yet just by turning and seeing her eyes he would see
something much more grand than the ocean and sand
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