She finds herself in sonnets of sand and broken shells. Her music is the heartbeat of the tides, the waning sun her lullaby. The saline breeze is the breath of her existence, though once she thought it was his kiss in all of their lustful persistence. The birds that cry mock her as they soar, stealing tears she is too resentful to shed. The moon’s reflection whispers of his affections. She sips the moonbeams and murmurs a prayer for his protection.
©6/2018
Whiskey Tales and Spells 