Hey beauty in the Betadine bikini,
waiting to be plumbed by mute
instruments, let me stain your sacred
pools dark; submerge beneath
your topography, inflate your belly
with the east wind and search for gold:
apples buried in seabeds. I hold my breath
and unearth turned fruit. Unfathomable.
O Aphrodite—sea-foam ovaries...
spirited away by the exacting tide.