"You're a mermaid,"
you laugh against bubbled kisses.
Fish flutter flirtingly against my thighs.
Tendrils of outstretched hair
float in waves of midnight hues,
silver stardust interspersed
throughout.
Buoyant breasts spill from
irridescent seashells.
I'm your private liquid mirage.
Pretend you're parched,
and drink me!
Sunlight glitters like pearls
on our rainbow skin.
My heart sprouts butterfly wings,
glides to your cupped hands.
It flaps wildly like a caged bird
as you gingerly stroke my aorta.
"You have to tame it first,"
I click in soft-spoken Dolphin.
We play tag on seahorses,
Frisbee with starfish,
explore coral-jewelled castles,
race unicorns in foam waves,
and toast one another
with jellyfish wine.
I'll never forget you,
mysterious land visitor,
the shirt of seaweed you wear
tight against your pectoral muscles
or the minnows weaving
through your beard.
You are my ocean.
Our unborn children shall forever
hear our enchanted laughter
tinkling inside seashells
lying forgotten on the sand floor.
Mother Ocean understands our dreams
when no one else does.