The
sea wind blows through her hair
as
if it had fingers
each
strand stretched out
along
the sides of her face.
This
is the face of a ship sailing
through
harbor mists,
beasts
pressing into the fog,
exposed
to each new shape
her
hair, her face, embracing all
owning
them all,
aching
for all to adore her
eyes
glowing with the artificial
illumination
of their reflected
admiration,
each ship paying
tribute
to her as they pass
and
vanish back into the fog
the
wind whipping her hair
as
she stares ahead,
into
murky mists
for
the next ship
to
embrace her.
No comments:
Post a Comment