You smell like sugar cane.
The raw, coarse scent strung between my nose and tongue
Was carried on the ship powered by the wind and rain,
From whose decks you wished to be flung.
Fog crept over the salty seas,
Brine water soaking your dress.
The dampening cloth clung to your knees,
And your sharpened heart it did possess.
I picture you standing at the bow,
Fists clenching the corroded wood,
So far from the field and the farmer’s plow.
So far from the place where we both stood.
Now the warm air caresses your cheek,
And closing your eyes, you think.
Perhaps the skeleton of the boat is rotting and weak,
And the ship will surely sink.
The destination is still a looming mystery,
For you boarded the ship with no shore in mind.
Maybe awaiting you is a land of history,
With a buried treasure for you to find.
You mirror the waves lapping the frame;
With a silky exterior that will drag you under
And leave you open for blame,
A prime target for thunder.
You yearn to throw yourself into the tossing grey ocean,
To sink down among the sandy stones.
But the heat and the ice would cause a commotion,
Because you’ve got arctic bones.