Rising from entrails of Poseidon she wore a salt dress of silver, holding the moon in her hands the way I held her, like porcelain. Far across the ocean we watched the oil zodiac upstaging stars and clouds, we oiled in the slick of our thighs. Her eyes asked me "will we always be like this" my answer was the beak of gulls crying for the leaving tide. Moments last forever And I drowned in blonde waves Hoping to surface And not become an ocean wreck Of Aphrodite's depths. Woven from dawns knives She wore a golden dress, Holding the sun in her hands The way I held her, like Midas.