[I wrote a sonnet! What's it about?]
A ruddy afternoon, dribbling post-vernal
Perspiration supersedes a whooping
Tempest some cerulean Mænads churned
To boil of reefy depths, a mollusk soup.
The leaping foam, fervent, discovers me,
All bundled up in sunscreen, trunks and skin.
Without a “do you mind,” the surly sea
Begins to serve up leftovers wherein
The guts of clams and other mollusks, nude,
Bombard me, a frenetic festival
The ocean musseled muscular construed
To drive me from its grumbles aestival.
Betimes when bored, and boogieing near the coast,
Eschew the waves; the deep’s a grouchy host.
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