A studious pupil,
I remember being told
Romance is like a shipwreck.
We imagine ourselves solid as we set out to sea,
armed with our ropes and measures and maps
passed down through the ages.
Yet the outcome is always the same–
beautiful, and tragic,
for, the Ocean would never make
such a mistake.
Be mine.
Give me everything.
I promise
I will give it all back.
I will leave
no mark,
no burn cutting into the softest skin,
no scratch, no telltale sign.
I will leave no mark
until you beg for it.
As she washed over him, his eyes
made the measurement of her collar,
his fingers took special care
adjusting the length of the silk.
Be mine
he whispered, using only that language of eyes
and trembling fingers,
believing she could give him everything.
And perhaps she did
loose herself completely
for just a single moment that seemed to stretch
time itself
like right before the wave breaks and
all the hearts on board
beat together.
