The sea is always
In throes behind you
Or, uncertain where the shore
Bent in praise before your feet
I thought it quite perverse
How the red shoes
Were your painted mouth
Fingers soft as raindrops
Other vanities calculating
In their iterations 
The mona lisare of your wrist
Lips divided
Each breath salt,  and hurt 
The lace undone
Turn your neck aside, as if
(No less easy)
You would almost sing