I met him in July. 

He had lips like cigarettes,

Scars like the earth,

But his eyes were blue oceans.

So deep and vast I felt sometimes

That I would drown

In his tsunami's of emotion.

I was the shoreline.

His oceans found my sand,

His water gave this deserted island life.

 Water filled my island body

With more splendor than anguish.

He met me in July.

I had lips like autumn's leaves,

Scars less visible now than before,

But I was still made of earth.

My eyes were golden grains of sand.

If he kept digging long enough,

He could find the pieces of ocean

That would belong with him.

I would not let him see the tattered sails

Of lost men that crashed on my rocks

In fear that he would leave my island a desert.

He will always be the ocean,

Even if he no longer kisses the rocky coast.

An island cannot forget her ocean lover,

An ocean cannot abandon the sands of her shore.