The ferry rocked,
an old whisper on restless tides,
each creak a memory, a sigh from the depths.
Sunlight sliced through the salt-laden air,
too bright, too bold,
etching shadows into my restless skin.

Smoke spilled from my lips,
a dance of ghosts—
yesterday's sorrows drifting,
too light to stain the sky.
Your hand found mine, rough and worn,
a map of uncharted dreams.

The ink on your chest breathed stories,
mysteries woven in flesh,
a melody I longed to sing.
Time fractured,
the world faded—
gulls cried out at the edge of forever.

“Let’s go home,” you murmured,
your voice soft,
fragile as a thread untangling.
But home wasn’t a place;
it was the weight of your touch,
the sun’s embrace,
the engine’s roar,
and the ache of everything unspoken.

I didn’t reply—
I let the silence cradle us,
because home was this moment,
and this moment was enough.