Prayer At Low Tide

Limpet-like I cling,
unprisably demanding:
soul-mollusc suctioned to your strength,
my strength spent
as insistent muscle grips
safe shelter in your shadow.
No geniality,
no courtesy,
nor the love which is pleasantry.
This is the passion of need.
Life-questing in fear I cling,
and clinging know myself grasped.
You do not let me go.