Tayve Neese

Sea-Whore: Call her Sally-by-the-Seashore

Abalone, blisters of pearl,

your hands are heavy for luster—
bowls from mangrove hollowed by brine,

angular lines of dried corals.

Your eye, captive by caverns
of nautilus, tip of conch—you keep

what is scalloped, swirled,
hard memory emptied of muscle.

Hinges pivot bivalves —
ridged mollusk,  razor clam,

their edges making click-clicks, 
gaped and parting, like your lips.

Originally published in MiPOesias.
Forthcoming in Locust from Salmon Poetry.