Sunday Island

On Sunday Island, in the sun,
My girl tells me to beware;
The wiles of Summer have begun,
And she is floating on the air.

My girl has wings of steely brown
And eyes of deepest set marine.
She beats the air around my crown
And beckons me away to sea.

We drift on open-ocean winds
And spy on spotted whales below.
I catch her staring at my skin;
My hands, my thighs, my eyes, my nose.

I can’t resist, as drowning fish,
The violent rendings of my flesh.