The cool breeze drifts in from the Pacific Ocean through the banana plant leaves. Shadows dance across the pastel pallet of the bedspread; the charcoal nude woman looks over her shoulder. Jesus clasps ... [+]
She sells SeashellsOn the seashoreSure, she sells theseSeashellsBut does she see the shore? Or only the shells in her sandy handsBleached by the sun's toothy smileYet colored in comparison to the pale seaOh did she but see the seaPoseidon's trident would oft strike her heart. She longed for his balmy, reposeful caressThe cool waves shaking their foamy heads To danceTo dance To danceHow she did wish to have seaweed for hairCorals for eyes And sea shells for ornate breastsAnd the skin of mermen manyDraped as lowly hung skirts on