They lured each other down onto the beach
with sidelong ripple-whispers and the light
but tidal tug of Truth or Dare. (Hot night,
cold water). Crossing dark dunes, they were each
too hypnotised for speech.
Lace-shallows closed around their ankles. (Trapped).
A forearm grazed a hand, unleashing lust
full-lunge. The straining anchor-lines all snapped
and left them grappling in the surf. (We must…
we mustn’t…shit, we just
have). All the galaxies convulsed above;
infinities of ocean foamed and hushed
by turns; then they were done. Lucky enough
a hiker sprang them, sparing them the rushed
and usual lies (blah love,
blah sex). Push come to shove:
his death-by-drowning nightmares soaked the bedding;
she dreamed of one more go before the wedding.
from Mapless in Underland, Ginninderra Press, 2004
