Last night,
I held the ocean's hand,
It was soft and giving,
Nothing like the mysterious depths you described,
That body of water was created inside your mind,
You built her up so high, she couldn't help but fall,
Couldn't help but violently crash onto the rocks below
Now she's bruised and cut, with precious pieces missing,
But I'll be the sun that rises and sets for her every night and day,
and I am not afraid of what lies beneath,
Because she's seen my face, even the masks I try to hide,
I smile and kiss her cheeks,
She is 70% water and I will drink her before drowning in the warmest depths of her skin,
Perhaps the moral of this story is that your ocean,
was never meant to be crossed,
It dwells like a black sea, with secrets and the broken hearts of others,
When the night is betrothed to the shadows,
He does not betray her and seek out other light,
But you did,
And now the ocean is gone,
Her gentle waves have reached a safer shore,
and I will keep her here with gentle truth and love
The ocean isn't just beautiful at night, but she is full of rage and fury,
And at last,
She is mine.
Good things come to those who wait and tell the truth about who they are. A man who opens the heart of a woman without the intention to hold it in his hands is not a man.