On the Shelf - ode to an oil rig

...on the Shelf

You come by night
sink into my waterbed
and listen for my sounds
my deep
my intimate.
You know my contours
cracks
and run your probing finger
through my sandy hair
– soft flowing – sensuous
explore my cavities
and meld in me
swaying the gentle rhythm
of the moon.

You come by night
to satisfy your need
And then move on
Leaving me empty
Ruffled
Swaying
Still.

...on the Shelf - in case you didn't guess, is about an oil rig on the Continental Shelf.

This tongue-in-cheek verse will be included in WORDS ON A CRUMPLED PAGE by Margaret Muir