You brushed my blouse at zero---
So comely never wishes. Staring at the ocean, in its reversal. Some, in the slant of sleep, will swallow us, before we have a chance (a chance! abandon chance woman!) to go back to the zone.
You bursared my blouse at one---
to tell it in "advance"---
one willow, a breath from a sunless seacrest.
I won't tell you my new name. (Unless I do.)