Forehead sore, striving to hold my irises unstrained
I see through the rays, red, blue, and white snapping in the wind
Casting flickering shadows upon the women in frocks of lighter pinks and turquoise
Just like that of the channel waters through which my bow cuts cleanly
Rudders portside, ropes knotted on hand
My lady and I dock, a gentleman all in black ready to oblige her graceful hand
Two cheeks dampened with a kiss’ moment later
A glance welcomes the uniform balconies which wrap around curved corners,
Double windows, and modest roofs that mirror extravagant ceilings
Onward we stride to our night time lodging where the dormant flares shall ignite
We celebrate our ought’ve been loss of virtues
And gain of not one golden band, but two