You are not flesh of his flesh, not birthed of his lower, floating rib; not of his heel or his heart or his head.
You carry the sea reduced down over eons, encapsulated in flesh, your womb; you smell of it, life and death. It is your nature, the push, pull of the moon. He is of Eve and you are the Ocean. Wild, passionate, unrelenting, restless, reckless.
He judges you on how you wear your flesh and not by the oceans you carry, not by the worlds you’ve birthed.
~A.M. Troester, Of Ocean (A Siren’s Hymnal)