Coming home

You roll in drunk from the fishing trip,

slimy with salt spray, sweat, suntan

lotion, and strange pussy, I suspect.

Flopping on the couch you growl for

dinner and for me to suck your cock.

Somehow I'm less than charmed; but,

I'm willing to do the cooking part.

As I putter in the kitchen, you babble

about the silly shit your buddies did;

about all the fish you caught; and

how the ocean fills your soul, and,

that you dreamt of being lost in it.

I wonder what you mean by that –

are you summoning up a genetic

memory from fish or just giving

vent to your death wish ?

You snort, groan and grab my ass,

but you're too gone to do me harm.

You mumble about going home.

What home are you thinking of?

Are you planning your escape; or,

have you had a moment of grace?

I understand your tide has peaked;

now, my love, where will it retreat?