We were perishing in the mysterious 
down-under ocean. 

Steep seas began to sweep away
deck chairs, boats . . . 
As the ship slumped into the dark
we turned to eachother and slowly kissed 
In the hold the prisoners howled and shook their canes

We saw the captain pull of in a small boat
Screams, the sounds of blows, a ring of shots
We kissed; behind your head- 
your curly head- 
up went the beautiful, useless, disaster flares
In what intimacy we were left to go down! 

- Boris Poplavsky (1903–1935)