Ships at a distance have every man's wish on board. A whistle away and a ropes toss to shore harbors the dreams for another day. Looking bleakly at a sun so bright-a reminder of a woman living ankle deep in wild flowers. Knotting away hours twisting hopes she'll be there when I get back.
She was unlike another. Swaying to the wind with a rustle in each leaf. Never falling. She indeed was ankle deep in wild flowers with roses in her eyes and thorns on her fingernails. A dreamer in realist clothing, held down by the man living her dream. Tempted to run. Oh, so tempted. But she would wait and pound the days through a bottle and a glass.
He'd come back with oil in his eyes and salt seeping out his skin. She'd be alluring like the moon once more except she'd taste a little different. Bitter. Empty.