Underneath the waning moon, a knight in shining satin strides, wandering through the waist deep tide, fish between his knocking knees, stroked behind his ears she sings, in ear canals and mountain steeps, he sighed in misty harshness, the shadows tied across his face. The sweetened sodden hair she stroked, miles away, he feels her raging though distance ever had a win, stroking his freshly shavened chin, he sighed like winding windy rustles, her hands hidden beneath the bustles, her dress so draped across her frame, he whispered all alone her name.