My vessel crashes thick upon these undulating waves
Gray and salty with tumultuous intent
I spy your lighthouse through the kaleidoscopic mess of my looking glass
The direction your beacon points scattered in the briny fog
My hands slip and crack on splintered wood and fraying rope
The prow of my vessel draws ever closer
To the jagged skerries beneath your lighthouse walls
Looming blue and white and beautiful with arabesques
I can still smell your perfume through this brackish haze
It mixes with the salt into some ambiguous alchemy, obscuring want
Thick upon a leaden compass skewed
By the precarious lodestone locked behind your eyes
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