My Hero, My Sailor

He stands in the uniform with childhood shipmates.
His anchors marching back and forth on the deck.
His eyes deep blue
like the oceans surrounding him.
His sub rosa grin yearns for me to see him.
He speaks in an anomalous style
like a sinning preacher.
Beer-stained blood
covers his slow beating body,
warm veins of hollow branches
buried under bronzed skin.
His past is his friend he invites for a drink,
he trusts the bottom feeders.
He gives away bouquets of crimson roses,
he does not accept any questions.
A mother’s son can do harm
his gifts wrapped in sea salt.
He turns to ash by exonerating all the broken shells.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s