November sonnet, "No, it's not about the drink"

' No, it's not about the drink '

A sandy beach might not be quite ideal
for wondrous copulation - but indeed
it has been presented so. Were it real --
were I converged and merged to urge my seed
into the silken depths of her, beside
a coastal berm, the rhythm of my thrusts
enmerged to surging waves, our pleasures cried
to startled seabirds overhead -- my gusts
would not encompass mere concerns.  As she
created we with her entrustment, lust
and love in natural display, our free
expression glorified by starkest trust,
the sunswept shore would be perfection, viewed
unique and crystalline and sparkling nude.