As lunar beauty draws the sea,
I pray naught shall taketh thee.
As shore cries whilst sea bleeds away,
so do I cry whilst thou stray.
Hark- the song of mercurial tide
echoes the strain of sand: naked, wide.
And as t'were left with vestige of sea,
so my soul still bears mark of thee!

If hope could be captured
the way audio is recorded,
and images are photographed,
I would have a jar
labeled "hug"
that I could twist open on occasion.
And with a little pop,
bring forth the whisper
of the weight of your arms,
the smell of your laundry,
the soft touch of your skin.

There was something about his eyes.
I swear, they contain the skies.
They haunt me.
Clouding my waking hours,
raining on my subconscious,
sunlight streaming through
pale translucence.