Of Course, The Water’s Wet

I found you willing, wonderfully wet, sea,
and so attentive to my toes, my needs.
Before I dive, attack the surf, or flee,
I wish to know the reason sunset bleeds
and drowns the fire far out beyond my sight.
Will you so predisposed and likewise take
my life, my blood, and scatter it, its light
between the swells and froth for your own sake?
What does it take to startle you but salt?
Oh how I love the calm, but more the churn,
your lap against my flesh, and if the fault
of tides is mine and none of your concern,
fresh water now has edges which have led
me to the corners of the waterbed.





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Charles (Charlie) Southerland lives on his farm in North-Central Arkansas where he bales hay, mills lumber, hunts and fishes. When he has time, he writes poetry on just about every subject. He is published in Trinacria, The Rotary Dial, First Things, The Road Not Taken and other journals. He has been nominated for a 2016 Pushcart Prize and is a finalist in the 2015 Howard Nemerov Sonnet Contest. He likes to write sonnets, villanelles and sapphics.