tidal women splay tempera
the conch pigmented against turquoise waters
her body sea-bound in paint and bone
she wears herself in brush strokes
zephyr and aura blow embryonic seawater from her shoulders
spring’s hora rushes to mantle her newborn curves
renaissanced she crashes borders architected
as venetian lips she cannot speak through
her body imaginative
almost cadaverous
she speaks around
she gazes as she is gazed upon
her nakedness to nudity
now pornographic
now classical
her body tidal
father her your words
your chipped teeth
your plaster-rotted frescoes
in your marbled mausoleums
she speaks you back