There stands a figure by the shore
In this world like none before
Seas and clouds of misty gray
Reveal themselves to those who stay
For if I were to follow you
Birds would sing of my doom, too

My lips are a band of Gypsy wanderers
thieving their way across the landscape
of your body.
They are telling fortunes to your flesh,
They are selling potions to your ***.
They mining beauty
from your oceans,
from your caverns, and caves;
to use in their witchcraft;
that they may make others their slaves,
as your beauty has enslaved them.

It was noon, sometime in mid-July;
Imagine the road, a twisting highway to my grave.
The bus, a roller coaster ride unhinged from the tracks.
Dodging missiles with headlights, horns rattling my nerves.
Just another three hours.

It was midnight, somewhere out at sea,
Somewhere in the universe, the Milky Way, another galaxy.
A shallow heartbeat, a distant echo of a Chinese Karaoke show, but all else was still.
The stars never seemed so vast, and I remembered that they were bigger than me,
I was just a speck.

It rained on the way back to ** Chi Minh,
The roads turned to rivers, the scooters grew ponchos; under them a family of three.
The city brought chaos; sad, tired faces, begging for one thousand ****; a cent.
The children danced in the downpour, jumping over sticks
Like hopscotch.

I thought of Ha Long Bay, just the night before,
I couldn’t hear the silence; I couldn’t see the stars; a dingy hostel ceiling, grumbling strangers snores.
I went to sleep dreaming of peaceful valleys, fresh spring waters, trees as far as the eye could see,
For tomorrow was a new day,
The next part of my journey.

Her restless feet,
take her somewhere;
where she can finally meet
the sky and the ocean.
For years she've been waiting;
barefoot wanderer longing for
sand and sea salt,
sunsets by the shore.

A sea of lush trees and mountains sprout out from her eyes and tickle the fringes of her lashes.

Each golden curl to every fiery, auburn swirl of hair snaps with electricity, like firecrackers bursting against a dawn smeared sky.

Long, aristocratic fingers with smooth palms that she weaves through the air, accentuating her every word.

She walks, breathes, and laughs Magick.

I’d follow her over every fallen log in our overgrown fantasies. I’d swing over every stream, swim up every waterfall, and dance on our bare feet until our toes were full of twigs and stones.

I’d skip with her through the cosmos, my shining ray of sunlight.