at first there was a sea captain
and he could have been lonely
but, surrounded by the great
expanse of the ocean
is one ever really alone?
and then, there was a bard
arguably more of an orator
(though a bard just the same)
for he carried no instrument,
no weapon but his words
and a pretty little dagger
that the captain gave him
tucked into his boot
it does not matter how long
the bard took to get to the captain
all that matters is he
is there now
so bright with all his love
the bard tucks daisies and
dandelions into the captain’s
long and windswept hair
and if the captain’s teeth are
a little crooked and the
bard has scars on wrist
and arm and chest
well, neither of them minds
because the bard will still
make the captain breakfast
and the captain will still
share his flask of rum
and when the captain asks,
voice rough with late nights
and years of salty ocean brine,
“is this a love story?”
the bard will only laugh,
voice free of heartbreak,
knowing the captain will
always belong more to the
ocean than he ever could
to him, and say,
“nay, my captain. it is naught
but a jaunty little tune”