Here, standing at your feet.
Peering past the depths of sea.
A soul, hard to see.
Gleaming of agony.
Dropping down a wishing well.
I hear the sound of silver bells.
Intricately woven into place.
Wrapped in sweet grace.
Summer suns cascaded across the bay.
It’s the warmth that guides my face.
Breathing in the salt of your skin,
I feel my hands, alive again.