A lover is imagined as a winter tide—slow, cold, and powerful—rolling over a soft shore. The speaker feels that movement as an intimate, almost overwhelming touch. There is tenderness in “fondling the broken shells of my sighs,” as if the other person is gently handling old griefs and disappointments. But there is also something raw and urgent in the final request: “Lick my skin with salt and silt before I die.” The mood is hushed, sensual, and faintly sorrowful. The speaker wants to be touched, tasted, and consumed, yet also seems aware of time running out. Desire and mortality press close together, creating a feeling of surrender to someone who is beautiful but not entirely warm—like the sea in winter.
Tide — Summary
You move like a winter tide rolling on a belly of sand.
Swirling over me, fondling the broken shells of my sighs.
Lick my skin with salt and silt before I die.