Wash the wild winds of Aphrodite’s hair
With your foaming swirls of oceanic flair.

Ceaseless moaning, crashing on the rocks
Tangling, ever curling rings around her locks.

Deep down, the dark blindness calls
The endless fathoms of your fascination trawls.

Right at the end, your gentle arms lap the shore
Behind them more come crashing, with mighty force.

Seaweed clings on her legs as she walks
Sensual sway in her stride, not a word does she talk.

To lie on the sand, face turned to the sun
Content in her being, no work; her job’s done.

© Angela Dunning, 21 September 2014

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