If by this time next year we are strangers,
the tide having carried you away while I stood by scowling,
feet sinking in the sand,
cursing the moon for betraying me,
muttering to myself that I wanted you to go

I will immediately hope to
forget
all those days when

Under bright daylight

                    in the just right mood

                              surprise tinges of gold line your eyes

                                               soften your smile

                                                          ­     and shine your diamond soul

                                                               ­                          through the room