The Lighthouse

The Lighthouse
By: Katie M. Moss

When I was young, I loved a boy.
His black tresses swirled in the wind of our restless nights,
His smooth lips touched mine more times than there are grains of sand on the shore.
Our nights were filled with passion-- eternal, slow-touch  rhyme.
I knew him that was certain.  I knew him for a time.

He left on a vessel bound for the waters, as I skipped rocks on the harbor--
--rubbing my hands to feel the friction, rubbing my hands on salty brine.
In his letters, he called me his lighthouse. His lone jewel on the glistening sea.
I tied my letters up in twine. I sent letters time- to- time.

He weathered the storms, he explained, because I was shining.
His skin smelled of salt, passion, and sweetened gin.--- Mine of the wind.
We slept under the same stars- a blanket of earth, and pine-leaf scatterings nestled our dreams.

--I heard no more of him, I believed him dead.

I woke up most nights sweating and reaching out--
My toes all jumbled up in the cotton-thread sheets, nestled by another.
I’d reach out and find him, unfamiliar, sleeping peacefully because of my presence--
I unmercifully because of his.

A ship sailed back into the harbor. Without a lighthouse, he said, they were lost in a storm.
He pulled my body close to his,
He placed his hand on my chest,
-and I knew--though waves were crashing all around us, he had been there all along.

He started skipping rocks on the shore, fumbling feet in the sand, only in daylight.
I watched out of my window, tasting the sea.
I dreamed I was a boat, tossed about in a storm that had no end.
He tasted gin and barley, he dreamt of the night.

He whispered, words uncertain-- As he clasped the rushing sand between his fingertips.
He meandered in the water, and then he closed his eyes.
He opened his mouth, inaudible words escaping his lips.
Only I could hear them, as I waded in behind him.
He said, the sea is endless- as is your love and mine.

I walk out to the harbor, past summers and slow time.
Dressed in white and dizzy--
Drop in a bottle, wrapped with  twine.
For you, it says, I am so grateful.
As I toast his soul and mine.