Notes: Presumably, another adventure has come and gone, Elizabeth has regrettably ended things with Will, and she and Jack are now miles away from the shores of her hometown. Pretend they have conveniently dropped off Jack's crew on the island of Tortuga and are now each other's companion on some abstract quest for understanding and revelations. This is one of my experimental prompts, see if it goes anywhere.
A SONNET ON THE SEA
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The sun is in her eyes, and the stars dot the Caribbean skies like pearls and diamonds around the floating moon. There's a warm jasmine breeze, invisible tendrils gliding along the surface like air nymphs dancing under carnival lights. Elizabeth Swann is sitting on the deck, curling and tracing her fingers around a Winesap, its scent rubbing into the skin of her hands. Today could have been the day of ivory silk and flower petals, candles and wine. Could have. Perhaps. Never.
(Once upon a time, he kissed the arch of her back, fingers wrapped around her arms. He promised her riches, whispered poetry and rhymes into her lips, as his tongue sought hers. He hissed at the contact of her hips on his, and her hands searched for the moonlight in his hair. He was merciless.)
But this is okay, this adventure. The stinging arms of the clock she remembers in her days of youth -- the counting and the waiting -- is no longer moving, halting its progress for her days at sea. There is no such thing as time in the middle of a shimmering horizon. There is no such thing as time on a cursed ship set sail for nowhere and everywhere, catching tiny waves that set them adrift to a dawning curve of beautiful.
('I'll leave you godless tonight, Miss Swann.')
This is some kind of wonder, she thinks. Elizabeth feels unconstrained, released from the confines of the gifted life of velvet and glass mirrors and into the arms of beads, braids, and gold; freedom.
(Her skin was alive, burning with fire and catalysed with electricity. His name fell from her lips, and he complimented her style, lopsidedly smiled at her caterwaul to oblivion, proceeded to rock away her kings and queens.)
She sings a melody for the waters rolling beneath the ship, a throaty, wordless song about the destruction of Eden, of dreams, and of everything but the present.
(She arched, urged him deeper with silent pleas, abandoned her soul to the greedy man with good intentions. And he took from her, stroke for stroke, everything she was willing to offer.)
And suddenly, he hums, and she looks over her shoulder. Captain Jack Sparrow is unwavering, posture comfortable and leaning one arm on the wheel, compass in his other hand. The slight wind dances through his hair, and she can hear the subtle dangling and twinkling of jewelry, like wine glasses clashing and fireworks exploding during a momentous celebration.
('You have one more chance to go back.')
He catches her eyes, then, a slow grin forming on his face. His eyes are playful and questioning, and she thinks she can taste rum, confidence and hidden islands in her mouth. This, she knows, is the luxurious symphony of her heart beating and her breath lost to zephyr trails. And the moment is gone like a splash in the water, much sooner than she had anticipated, as he tosses the compass in her direction.
(She closed her eyes and pulled her to him, burying her face into his shoulder.)
The Black Pearl is still; unmoving.
('I don't.')
'To where shall we land, Miss Swann?' His question rolls off his tongue, unravelling splendour from his lips.
(He fell asleep, arm tightly -- protectively -- wrapped around her shoulders, her body curled about his. They're spindly and sharp and encompassing; the moon curves and bends to make room for their beauty. She murmured longing, lips brushing against his chest above his heart; he wouldn't hear it.)
She flips open the compass and watches the dial spin 'round and 'round. It continues clockwise and counter-clockwise, indecisive and forever searching. There will be no answers tonight.
('I might love you.')
'North, Jack. Find North.'
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23 July 2006
© vexia LJ