“I respect boundaries,” she said, “vigilantly. And I love to play right up to the edge of them, see how close I can get.” She smiled, slyly, like one who could never drown.

Edges. Places where one thing stops being itself and becomes something else. Places where one thing washes over another and changes it. Edges, where you can fall over, tumble in, be washed away.

Hard edges that cut. Soft edges that overlap and enfold. Permeable boundaries that let me flow into you and let you flow into me. Impenetrable borders that keep us apart.

Taste me at my edges. Taste the salty lips where my inside turns out. Taste my finger tips and let them penetrate your body. Let me trace your lips and feel your tongue and push inside you.

Who is sand and who is sea and what kind of moon is it that draws us together and pulls us apart with such relentless rhythm?

Photo by Molly

~ by Molly Montrevoir on February 5, 2007.

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