I call it a poem for Martina

We'll hit you
Like a hurricane
As you stare out over the curves of the sea.
We'll batter you,
Enfold you
-Hold you-
And for a few short days
We'll be all that
Your senses perceive.
We'll fill your eyes
Your nose, your ears
Your mouth-
We'll be the only surface
Under your hands.
But soon, like a hurricane
We slow,
Lose momentum
And dissipate
Until all that remains
Is a dry shell of a memory
And the taste
Of the sea
On your tongue.