We spun out our nights lighting fires on the beach.
He smelled just like honey, the palm-reader’s son.
I fell in mad love when he went mad on the piano.
The sea has its limit but my desire had none.
Shakespeare and songs about sunsets past
sailed some hope upon my heart as it tossed in fear.
Too afraid to make friends, make amends, though I tried
to put the world to right, but was too quiet for it to hear.
