RELEASE OR MEND?

A BOY AND HIS GIRL AND HOW HE FEELS ABOUT HER IN 1969

She has sunshine
in her hair,
like sun
on fields of corn.

I walk there,
brushing my fingers
through the softness.
She welcomes me in,

in I swim
through the waves
of her love;
she is my siren,

I, a drowning seaman.
Her lips are as fruit,
I am upon them
as a child greedy

for sustenance;
her moistness
embraces me.
Her thighs are ocean-like,

I bathe as one
needing salvation,
ablutions to a new end,
will this release

the dead me
or mend?