Ocean by Anthony Liccione

her arms
an open ocean,
waves me in
lets me go;
swallowing
my blues
of forty knots
below-
how we men
like to throw
them back
to the water
these woman
that stir the
simmering pot,
before it cools–

you dare not
ask for
a compass,
if ever lost
at sea,
she will be
a storm of tears.
but you recoil
and hold
the boat steady
stay in the center
of her arms,
where fish
keep searching
for hooks,
lured with love.



Anthony Liccione, Texas, USA