Merrytime

In times as such I want to turn to thee

I picture us at the head of the bay

With airy salt our plights begin to flee

At sight of the Pacific twirl and sway

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The clouds, they form a gentle blanket wan

It falls upon us with a gentle grace

We wait atop our sandy bed for dawn

As light begins to emphasize your trace

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Our hands like shells which sit between the rill

Their shapes fill gaps between each other’s break

Your voice with tune that shames the siren’s skill

And eyes of green which make the ocean ache

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The moment’s beauty captured in our bliss

Serenely locked within ambrosial kiss.