this ship and i
have both got ribs,
crafted from wood and bone,
both housing something greater
than the sum of our parts
but even wood,
even bone,
can splinter and break
and, my heart,
my love,
there is no sign of land
perhaps there has not been
for quite some time,
but like the lovesick fool
that i am, the majesty of
the open ocean and the bright
skies above captured my attention
more than that lonely little spit
of shore growing ever smaller
in the distance ever could
and maybe the answer that
i seek slumbers at the bottom
of the ocean, far from the sun
and the salty tears
of silly bards
for i never was much of
a sailor, much preferring the
company of you and a bottle
of spiced rum to the creaking
ship boards under my boots
and there is no sign of land,
and i hope i never get sober,
and maybe i’ll get to see
your lovely crooked teeth one
more time as you smile so wide
and hold me close
and wouldn’t that be nice,
oh captain of mine?