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.