Longing
I was not bred for this sea, the lullaby call of the waves, the bitter laments that may flow without warning.
The sea in my blood is of a different sort, of green, of gentle rustles, of wind not salt-laden.
I have been long from that sea.
Captured.
Afraid.
Saved.
His pleasure became mine, his food mine, his hand the only gentle touch I felt.
And he was gentle.
And I learned to love his sea as my own.
And now even the gentle touch of his hand and the wind-swept caress of his lover, even those are denied me.
