It’s time to be serious and such
when wind crushes me against the mast
and I can hear loud snaps of wood and bone,
can feel the deck sliding out from under me.
I reach into the darkness and find your hand,
waiting there, reaching back, pulling me to safety,
to a world minus the nauseating spin,
the mad, dizzying, roaring swells,
with no light, no horizon, no shore, no hope.
Love, actually, doesn’t begin to cover it.
Serious from the first day we met,
the storms came soon, too soon,
and there was your hand, storm after storm.
Your hands are one of your finest features, you know.
You saved my lives; I am therefore yours forever.
I promise only an occasional bright day with no storms,
a sunny day of clear and heady sailing,
and if one day, any day, you need it, I’ll return the favor.
And love will ascend to its destiny.