Her Heart Beats in Brine

Here, we rest.

Clasped beneath
steepled-fingers,
beats her heart
against my chest.

No, not the Lady of Peace,
nor the Lady of Patience,
but her heart beats,
in brine…
it beats in time
with the waves
above where we sleep,
like coral, half-living –
a hellish stasis in the deep.

I am the Captain.

My ship, she sailed,
into the blackness
of the ocean’s swell.

I bore a gift
for a distant Lady.

In my chest it lay,
but, of deeper things,
the Salt Lady’s cravings,
her lust and love
for the Sailor,
steered my way
and under a silt-blanket,

sharing The Salt Queen’s bed,

is where I sleep to this day.


©️ CGT, 2019.

NaPoWriMo Day 3

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