I follow this girl in the hopes of
something uncertain,
even as
the sea wind tugs at me like
a small child with entreating, urgent
hands.
There are threats within the deep
to snatch me from the air,
and so I must be wary.
These orbs,
bright and small and pink,
have voyaged here from
watery graves
to surround her with
the fervid attention
she drew from them
in life.
When she tires
of their
flickering affection,
she will feed them to me.
Then I will feast,
and dream
of being a man
worthy of
her love.
For now,
we dance
together
on the storm-churned
surf,
as the
souls of her lovers
circle us
to the music
of the wind.
BlackQuill 