Possibly a Referendum - On the sea it was born and on the sea it will die.
They were kissing in English and complete disorientation on sheets half awake in light. In just a minute, it was, by way of a fortuitous gravity, a needle-nosed scheme that was to befall fateís recently-polished chariot. She was to utter a mumble for an earthen ear of guilt. Then he was for the latter of natural light to reconsider several weights that rest his balance. It wasnít the conscious sort either, being more of an intermittent, insidious character growth proceeding in both directions with a simultaneity of contact, a sort of sanguine vapor that manages itís way into the inner orbits of personage, defining contours of organs whose shapes were, until then, independent of the dried-salt, bleached hull, the sea-skipping smooth-skin surface magnet, fastened to each other by strings and tiny knots. Her insistence was the force bending string, releasing string, inharmonic excitement of motion not seen only felt, until, that is, the mind cries. From a point further from the instant, in a seemingly more rigid aqueous ambulation, cleft to valley, a moment reached forth and seized the instant that was her intention, bade it forgiveness, salted lightly, thrown adrift off feigning calluses, and watched from patience as it took to the seas. In corpus, at the root of a line constantly changing, her case waited for his patience on a sea half sleepy from a falling darkness, nearing its surface, then diving beneath her, through, out of her again.