Octagon-love

Does her ivy; an oak bough cleave?
When her body, is clenched in unison
Does a twofold breath still bereave?
It’s one single, singularity in motion.

Does he tent-peg her octagon-love
High or low in her valley of stars
Does she yearn, more deeply above?
Or below, compass arthritic arms.

And should both their oceans mingle
Like a green velvet salt-sea-spray
Let each dual shipwreck slowly shingle
Not a salvage slipknots anchor away.