An island cast in the distance, teases.
Her soft lips of shores on lakes are perched.
Her curves of land and earth stay heavily
on the ocean bed.
The waves of hair flowing
as in a pool when a woman puts her head back.
You know!
right before that moment when she begins her ascent and all the cosmos is eagerly frozen in expectation.
That beautiful hair cries for my fingers.
She is beautiful.
But I miss it.
She doesn't need me
But I pretend like she does.
You might say we're dancing.