Sunday,
you are sweet on me,
staring as I sing,
surrounded by sage,
spelling out my own name,
with the spiralling smoke.
You kiss me,
in the car,
outside of church,
the devil is loose,
as you pray,
hands on my waist,
tender,
then tighter,
your resolve,
wrecked,
wavering,
wild wolves beat in your heart,
breaking free,
when we are alone,
and you are insane.
I am sweet,
on your sheets,
bound and beautiful,
yours,
completely.
Crowned by the glow,
of your chaotic energy,
complicated communications,
that spill from you to me.
There is silver seduction,
safe in my hands,
as I hold you close,
the night,
knowing our secrets,
but keeping our confidence.
I hear your call,
at the harbour,
when you return,
every morning,
but you cannot stop yourself from doubting,
that I am devoted to you.
I think you might love me forever,
fretting,
on the ferry home,
that you aren’t enough for me,
but my soul is in the sea,
guiding your heart towards mine,
and your name,
is clear and strong,
in every wave.
I wait.
I wait.
