Amphitrite rides the hippocamp.
Her face—
emotionless.
Her spirit—
silent and still.

She is well-versed in battle.
Her sea-beaten face shows
she has slept with happiness,
as she has worn sorrow.

Her hippocamp moves
between her thighs
with purpose.
His intent is smooth
beneath the water.

He carries his maiden
with loyal
and tender care.

She grasps, gingerly,
to his back.
It’s been a while.

Is it uncertainty,
or is it inexperience?
I cannot tell—

as the two
octogenarians
glide softly across
the hotel pool.