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.