Giving way to the body’s bias,
the womb of the Earth, he slips in
with open hands.
Chest, shoulders and legs flex
against and in tune
with the predator,
the closest instinct
to submerge, surface and breathe.
Each their own island
he’s the breeze
open and stoic.
Then there’s sandy hair and an ice-cream smile
the warm rock, resolute
and rooted in the ocean without the will
the unmoved, but longing to change
through water and human touch
for beauty’s sake
all find flattering rhythms
as one pulse in relay
their blood beating on flesh and muscle
leaving the shark in a rapture of ravenous envy.