Locked in my shell of bone and blood
   an ocean says diminished things;
the echoes of the lover's head,
   her million mouths and green tongues.

Clasping its coloured horn, you sail
   inward along the fathomless
desired horizon of the shell:
   are voices then the breadth of seas?

Dumb in the prison of distance, that
   which stained this mockery in her gulf
stamps to destroy us: the white feet
   of the dragon, passion herself.