every cloud has its silver lining
and every nightmare has its root in reality;
every forbidden whisper lies between our truth
and every dream is only temporary…

“come with me,” you say,
and you discard our sand-worn shoes
by the hotel door.

“you must see the sea at night,” you say,
and with the ominous storm on the horizon,
we make angels in the shore—
because hell knows we need a guardian.

the lake
at night
is a myriad
of waves.
we are unable
to see anything
other than
the crest of
the waves
lapping
at our
toes

and the way that they slither
down
the
sea
side

mouths
&
tails
of
foam
&
mist

winding
down
and
along
our
footprints

…

“it is like a silver dragon,” you say,
and we forget that soon,
we will leave each other.

every cloud has its silver lining
and every nightmare has its root in reality;
every forbidden whisper lies between our truth
and
every dream
is only temporary.