My Lover

My lover is very mysterious.

His moods change like the wind.

He is calm, collected, and tranquil one minute,

And furious, stormy, and vicious the next.

But I love him anyways.

He leaves me gifts,

Pearly, beautiful gifts.

At least,

Some of them are..

Most of them are incomplete,

Having been scraped up from the bottom.

These I pay no mind to.

Others I inspect,

Searching for flaws.

And if I find some,

I throw them back in his face,

For I am choosy.

But every once in a while,

He gives a perfect present,

One that I snatch up greedily

And clean and polish

To perfection.

And I keep it for many years to come.

But if I am not careful with these rare gems,

My lover has no qualms against snatching them away,

Never to be seen again.

But I love him anyways.

My lover is very affectionate.

He showers me with kisses.

Many are soft and caressing,

But others are violent,


Longing for something more.

But I am as persistent as he,

And I do not yield.

He is left in wanting,

As he always shall be.

As I always shall be.

For no one can ever truly be one

With the ocean.



When I first wrote this poem, I posted it on If you check for plagerism, you will find it posted there, almost word for word.

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