A hot sliver capers
off the painting,
wrapped in
see-through strategy,
so you see
she dances.

Over the sea
she is my girl,
interested and laughing.

A warm response
turns her dazzle
on,      over the sea.

She twitches to imagine
touches so rare
they cause her knees to bend:
just to imagine this!
(and believe me, i know,

and the touches
most likely not rare.)

Tipping a few
more she would try
to fall into my mind,
to let me be inside her,

let me keep
days of time opened up wide
and elegant
by a capering sliver.

She skipped
dark pools of oil,
regret, stasis
through tangos
so foreign
in their depth
of wet lips,
love of both sidling
and assaulting thighs.

Fired-up and laughing,
my girl over the sea.