on the docks with the flickering of ship lights
in the dead cold of a winter I tend to spend solo
waiting through residual nights almost starless
hands bitten bone bloody by the beast of wind
splashed by the wooing sea's unwanted serenade
the call of sirens tempt provoke my senses
to follow them below the waves to the wet
the death of an eternal bed among their scales
and tendrils and shells their calls
the concentration of hell between my eyes
an ache to match the craving in my chest
pumping for your distance pumping to protest
how far gone you are from the side that will never leave you
lonesome, I'm a virgin to being so full of echoes
reverberating on the rocks to cosmos
feeding me with rough drafts of tragedy
that will be re-written again and again
with so little to be changed,
I have little else to think
save you can't make it on your way
i like this lots, too.
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