Panting At The Gills Poem by Mark Heathcote

You took me to the port of your joy
I held your hands I anchored there
I bathed in oils, and I wasn't coy,
we made waves together, everywhere
I found you to be some tropical island
ferns, palms vales, and rolling hills…
breasts like the Scottish highlands
air thin, left-us panting at the gills.
You said, ssshhh… like the call of the sea
so, it was, I left my ship, swam ashore
I fired everything I had and still more
I fastened my life to your own bowsprit
I sank that ship for land legs
I drank everything I could procure
even till those last few final dregs
but even now, the sea still calls ssshh
I guess it'll take a while to find my legs.