The Beach at Eighteen

[matsunosuperfan]

After much deliberation, hopeful improvements. 
                                                 

I am eighteen and she is beautiful. 
Aquatic breath soothing my sun washed skin. 
She holds the eye in a way
that makes my cheeks sear. 

Her song is hums
forcing me to hug my knees to my pulse. 
Seated here 
at the edge of her fingers. 
Tapping and coaxing until my feet are wet. 

I am eighteen and she is playful. 
Winking light against her surface. 
She can hear my panting
up my legs. I am excited to be afraid. 

To dance in her. Breath catching 
in my throat 
when she pulls at my waist. 
Love — me —
it was not a request. 

I am eighteen and she is passionate. 
Tugging at my body.
Our chests heaving together. 
A gasp. Swept underneath. Only to burst,
from her, soaked in her. 
Eyes to the dying sun. 

The horizon is on fire. My lungs draw it in. 
Crackling heat inside my ribs. 
I am eighteen and she embraces me. 
Life has no weight. 
Her world, a languid amber. Time unwound
and dizzying. 
My world dissolved in her. 

Her soft hands grip at my limbs. Deeper,
the pull. Her kiss
shattering. 
Whirling, dancing of spheres. Thrashing in alien beauty. 
My lungs emptying. 
I am eighteen and she is ravenous. 

Do I rise? Or, does she push me. 
I know, that I will never know. 
I crest; newborn and shaking. 
Her world is not my world. I control nothing here. 
I can only lie back on her bed, and just 
rest on her palms. 

She leads this dance. 
I am eighteen and she is gentle. 
Forgiving of my fumbling, excited movements. 
Touching only as she wishes to be touched. 
My saltwater joins hers on my cheek. 

Her fingers press me away
when she is finished with me. 
When my muscles burn with my skin. 
Returning me to the beach 
lying under the dark sky. 

Hair sticking to my face. Palms 
sinking into the sand. Merely watching. 
Breathing. 
I am eighteen and she is forever.

Needs about half as long still! Keeping it a buck! You're asking too much of the reader... individual moments are all reasonably appealing but this runs out of steam long before it is over.

A few specific issues to highlight that contribute to the feeling of tedium:
-the syntax is static; each stanza follows almost exactly the same grammar and declarative pattern. it becomes droning, rather than feeling formally cohesive.
-too much of the action is bare, mimetic description to sustain this much length. there needs to be more surprise and complication within the individual gestures to carry momentum.
-much of the declarative follows an expected arc/these are familiar sentiments, so too much of it is a lot to swallow.

I think for this poem to really succeed, more complication and subversion of theme is needed in general. Wanting more of the particular, I think, to distinguish this occasion from many others like it.

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I gave the ol' compression machine another try, ruthlessly cutting for anything cliche-adjacent or, frankly, boring. 
This is what I was left with:


She holds the eye in a way
that makes my cheeks 
sear. Her song is hums, forcing me 


to hug my knees to my pulse. Seated 
at the edge of her fingers. Tapping and coaxing 
until my feet are wet. 


Winking light against her surface. 
She can hear my panting
up my legs. I am excited to be afraid. 


Love — me —
it was not a request. 


Tugging at my body.
Eyes to the dying sun. 
Crackling heat inside my ribs 
a languid amber.


Whirling, dancing of spheres thrashing 
in alien rooms left my lungs emptied.


Do I rise? Or, does she push me. 
Her world is not my world. 
I know what I will never know: my saltwater 
joins hers on my cheek. 


Her fingers press me away
when she is finished, when my muscles 
burn with my skin. Returning me to grains 


of glass under a darkening sky. Damp hair 
sticking to my face. Palms 
sinking into the sand.