Short and perplexed,
like a dying Sharon.
Resting on a near raft offshore , lunging sexily beneath the night .
Breathlessly ,skin crawling off like rose petals.
A jewel indeed.
A body in despair of the freaks that come with the night.
Sparkling shyly under a beech grave.
My hearts sits on my feelings ,
it makes a screeching sound
that’s how i know night’s a sexy devil .
My dreams hung sadly on a broken deck taking off with any chance of wind.
My fate merging further away from the lighthouse .With him too.
At shore is no daisy.
A piece of the ocean’s heart sinking with the rest of the ship .
I hear death roaring from afar .My only weakness now.
The Queen of the Queen’s Town had drowned heavily on the summer night of March 19.
Shipwrecked with God’s hand patting us softly  while we wait for what looks like help … coming from miles away in the sea .
A lit souvenir.