Am I supposed to tie my hands to sails
and let the unknown force, spirit, of your
memory take directions?
Or do I wear skin-tight materials past
my wrists for protection against your
bitter tongue that never used to be
the past- but I wrecked your innocence
why did I run when your arms were
railings I could rest aside?
Observe this wind, note that while it
may not always be in bulks of strength
going at an applaudable speed,
I am sheltered, if for a moment,
looking at you from the outside
in hopes I don't bring you the roughness
of Spring.
For I am awaiting the gales I thought
wouldn't cling to my soul like this,
but they will not part...
