Worried at Wondering, Revisited

I'm being a tormented, curling & twirling Storm Ocean.
Roiling about the confines of my sacred space
And dwelling on how pretty I look each time my eyes pass the reflection.
Ovulation is treating me nicely
And I feel I'm looking my best,
But underneath I'm nothing but drenched.

There are dainty little grains of sand beneath
And all they say is that there's a lot
To doubt about all this swirling around.
Go lie down and weep.
Because you're not enough.
You're just the Stormy Sea
And without the land you can't make a beach.

I believe that the Land needs the Sea
To meet at his River Mouth and she drinks happily from his soul.
Dances and cools his cliff faces
And knows something is missing far away
Where the Desert is stretching fully like the morning sunrise,
A dry and parched thing after the cool, starry night and wine drinking.

Standing still the tendrils of cool air streams will reach
And flutter my skirts about my tangle-swaying legs.
So I spin and become a maker of the wind.
A cool drink oxygen to race and stimulate ever-reaching spiraling veins
Filtered by the mist, so thick, hanging in the chilled aura hanging about the sea.
A gentle kiss of brine.
A northwest and perpetual clinging love.

Here, filling my time in circles circle spiraling in and around, around.
Arms tick-tocking crossing and colliding shifting and rotating
Loving center of gravitational pull
And a clock face that faces no particular direction.
A perfect mirror image of the look upon my face.
Framed in a circle circling a forming spiral turned to turn back in onto herself.

I could never trace living, lovely lines
Into the vibrating aspiratings of universe and universe alike
While weeping, lying, weakly winding down until unmoving.
Still, I cannot determine if I'm not yet dreaming.