"Wait," he said, the stranger I didn't know. I kept walking, embarrassed by my tears. He saw me, a!l of me, yet he didn't leave.
Gentle fingers soothed, gave hope. His left hand weighted by an anchor of gold.
Wary, trying not, but needing him; I rode the wheel, Present in every way, It was all and it was unstoppable.
We exist in the confines of moment. Held entranced by our eyes, though his left hand wore an anchor of gold.
Did he feel the surge, my feminine need to be owned by him? Did he care? An illusion some say,
but I stood taller by his side, and the dust blew away from my soul. My lips, my lungs, my heart drew in,
greedy to soak up every particle he could spare,
crumbs that were left by his anchor of gold.
Still, I may have the best of it. Once, pineapples and spies. I will remember him softly. Cheese, make a wish, say goodbye. I hope he is blessed by his anchor of gold.
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