Sardinia

What we call the shore is just
the sea making love to the land.
With a longing lying deeper than lust
he grinds her pebbles to sand.

In and out in endless riffs
his swells rush in, then slowing,
gather the strength for pounding her cliffs;
ebbing, overflowing.

Day after night, night after day,
he lunges in with a roar,
each undulating thrust and sway
unlike the one before.

Licking her coves, lathering rocks
into a slippery glaze,
splashing the screaming seagull flocks
as he laps at her inlets and bays.

Passion pressed to fractal shapes,
stone and foam comply,
while waves carve caves up under her capes
and shore birds cry.

Ecstasy taking on physical form,
earth and ocean blending
in awesome patterns, calm and storm,
an orgasm without ending.