Rivulets

Imagine rivulets of water tickling your skin on their journey home, the sun blazing on your salt soaked skin under the clear skies, the soft breeze rocking your small wooden boat as it carries unformed waves beneath; The sea sheltered on her lips as they brush against yours, her hot breath rolling over your mouth, the rough skin of her gray tail rubbing against your bare leg, all feeding the ardent desire ablaze your mind.

You, a lone fisherman, and your curious lover from the depths lying on a boat whose entrails can only hold a single human. The girl who, like clockwork, journeys to the surface at the end of the week, who intrigues her neighbors so teasingly, but who, without fail, traverses those treacherous miles to find that small boat under the feverish sun.

The scalding heat suffused in your bodies knowing no restraints, any obstacles long removed, and, as a predator does with its prey, you thrashing in a violent frenzy with the fanged girl whose great tail cracks against the old boat. Like a tempest, the strength of the sea behind every move, your bodies breaking against the chipped wood of a vessel at sea until at last, the girl is enveloped in a salty white flood. As the storm passes, the raging waters turn from their earthshaking violence to a tender caress on which your lover drifts off, back to the hidden depths of her dark city, leaving you only with the marks of her love and a promise for more.