splintered into slender pieces, a taste, apertif of time divided in a tug of war with too many players my end of the week. 1.6.17

i walk along where vines hang low the moonlight shines the sea below steer my ship through choppy seas stockade of my speckled past with wounded ones unfit to last give fair warning when passing by i lick the honey off chapped lips and blow a kiss to opposing ships seek my lodestone with open …