Ides Of Winter The Fathom Bride
Cold, they kissed softly and in the rain lost the wandered off shore.
Cold, the wind amusing, revealing curves through the folds the ladies adorned.
Adrift in swells unending, fervors thirst as they rise and fall.
The tides, to one confiding, and listened to the woes the sea recalled.
She teetered for days unhindered and indulged in the maiden’s young skin.
A tear of guilt concealing, for the sea had demanded one of them.
Calm, her breath, as she pulled close to touch their trembling chests.
A whispered word to assure herself that somewhere the love was still there.
She stretched her fingertips deep into the trusting flesh, with leaded-heart
And a graceful press, watched the sea rush in to claim her newest prize.
Stinging, how dare she, with the taste still fresh upon her lips,
And a cowards brand welting where the angel left her mark.
A pure soul, erodes into the salty brine, betrayed and not betrothed.
From the mourner’s edge and with instant regret she plunged out a failing hand,
And gave a plea to perfection with the last ounce of strength in her bones.
But, washed into the haunting moonless eyes was the reply…’’Let go.’’
So remains, a stilled heart, a ghost, a fathom bride.