She was the wilderness
in kind, earthy tones
and thick, lavish air
hanging heavy in the white
afternoon.

I was the ocean,
in heaving, sickish hues of green
and soapy, feverish fits
swelling onto the bay,
clumsily.

Her sunkissed stare,
and oleander skin
could bruise the freshest fruit
and so she left me with her
mark.

I spent August nights
dizzied by her spell
but encompassed in my sadness
I became
a ghost.

Even now, I drop apologies
like petals at her feet
and watch mournfully
as the yawning earth
flaunts her
as its bride.