At the Beach a little stream of tadpoles led from lake to sea
When I was young I caught them in sand pails
Then last fall you and I balanced over that stream
Kissing and catching each other

Toes in sand, we read Winterson aloud
Our purple towel soiled with cum
Our purple lips and cunts and cocks cold
In the October sun

You fucked me open on the rocks
Like cutting a fish that you had caught
And I read Winterson aloud
Anyone could have seen or heard

Now I hear your voice ten thousand miles away
I read to you, Winterson,
and a poem about that day