erotic poem

it was a tall young oysterman
braided and woven
i see all human wits
since i have felt the sense of death
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
look out upon the stars, my love
let me move slowly through the street
though i am little as all little things
why then, must we see?
the darkness rolls upward
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
he came and took me by the hand
by the rude bridge