Yes, I Eat Her Oysters Poem by James McLain

The tide rolls in with dark silver light,
Soft hands that beckon, pale and slight.
Beneath the moon's uncertain glow,
A gift is placed, the shells below.

Pink as dawn and smooth as rain,
They whisper salt, they sigh again.
A taste of brine, the breath, the sigh,
The ocean's kiss, the tongue's reply.

They melt like song upon my tongue,
A fleeting note where seas hang long.
I take them in, I drink the deep,
Where secrets lie and lovers weep.

The sea is hers, the tide is mine,
We linger, hush, our fingers twine.
Pink, moist, and tender—soft and sweet,
A memory tasted, wild, complete.