Sappho

by Cory-Ellen Nadel

Call me sailor before poet.

In sweet dark coves I shipwrecked,

crashed with a passion into her salt

and smooth sand body.

It was something in her hips, in the brown

motion and the swaying. Something

that drew me to the hollows of her,

my laughing wild girl.

Her singing calls me now from sleep.

Draws me back to the rocks, and the wet tongues

licking my footprints away. Kneeling in the ephemeral

shape of the shoreline, my eyes are filled with wind-whipped tears,

my mouth with the memory of dark hair tangled

between her siren lips and mine.