Memories scattered like driftwood are
dispersed into oblivion by feisty currents
frolicking with these heavy stones
Linger with me in this timeless quiescence;
gingerly pluck teardrop intricacies
from my ebony-dusk saturated hair
In our secret place obscured from judging eyes
No one shall know our names, though even so
names are quite obsolete in this dance of old
Don’t look back, lest you transform into all we abhor;
Cold, unfeeling, settling heavily to the bottom
Clawing - always clawing - but unable to grasp redemption
We must hurry, though, for the tide is rising.
And we’ll be gone before they can even think
of stealing us away.