Us, ladies of the sonnet - sex, the thing we’re best at: attend a surfboard lesson. Ah, male apprentice, tow momma on board with your rope. Never mind, just lather me up with soap – I’m a dope on your rope, drag me under testosterone waves, no need to breathe inside the cylindrical barrel; translucent little shotgun death. Cougar trapped - with desire to devour those shorts; do things young men haven’t learned yet - like eddy whirl and suck up, hold down trick then eat the good rush. Yes? I’m going down deep into the place you need me and dream of coalescing starfish, just let go - grab on to something wet, my sides, my breasts, my ass: luscious sea grass. Now, comes the clam grip. A shining pearl: open-eyed voyeur; no need to hide, for wanting inside - just crush it.