At first your mermaid was flat —
a line drawn round her wedge of tail,
fronds of thongweed for her hair,
her eyes two pokes of finger in the sand.
I made mine beside —
her belly swelled,
her breasts were easy cups inside my hand.
I left her swinging her hips
and rolling her bladderwrack eyes.
When I looked again
yours had grown two cones.
They stood proud for hours
before the high neap tide came in.