The roar of the Atlantic Ocean breaks in time with Ginsberg’s words

And the woman that I laid next to on the beach stretched

Her arms out absent-mindedly as far as they would go and

Casting a shadow on the seventeenth page, making me flick tiny particles of sand

over her in disgust.

Her friend, listening to one of my tapes that I had recorded in my bedroom

Before I skipped across the pond to meet you, remarked that the batteries were running

Out and she was bored of listening to the sound of the ‘tramp,