The Sailor

I lost my mind at sunrise
when you broke the shore.
And when you sailed the sinking coast,
I think my stomach tore;
bone marrow shattered against insects,
my inner desires scurried up lanes,
my instincts carried me to the sand
to sketch out your remains.
And then a wave hit my side,
(high-tide, barely past four),
to wash away my forlorn saint
my bitter, faint amor.





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