Dora Incites the Sea-Scribbler to Lament

Sees him at the far end of the strand, squamous in rubbery weed, his knees bobbing urchins, his lean trunk leaning, sea-treasure for her. After it all (they mate, like carapaces, in parentheses) Dora feels coolness in new places, lifts a reused razor shell, mother-of-pearly and straight and signals out to the swell of moldering green. Dora is electric, in love, and deep water. Dora, Dora, Dora, in which dread is. People people the beach, peering through splayed hands, appealing: DAW-RAAaargh. A boat sees her passing. Sea-scribbler’s chest buckles in aftershock: his quill is primed: squid-inked and witful.