The Wharves at Dawn

Near a decade ago
I met two girls out on a walk;
One, an English rose,
And the other a seaside thorn.
We talked amongst the wood and
the nervous smiles that spread
across my freshly ironed faced;
The giggles in their eyes did that back then.

I soon forgot about the rose,
Instead resting at the beach as
the moon smiled
on my youthful midnight folly.
The waves tickled our feet
and we cared not for the tides,
Singing sweet nothings with a
horizonless blue.

We both drowned out there;
I, in my darkness, and she,
In something other than me.
Too young to love, not old enough;
But there enough to know of
the coming dawn.
I still see the rose out walking occasionally,
And the thorn still scars my chest.

the wharves at dawn2


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