A Meaningly Sound

It happens slowly, like the lethagic circles of the silent moon

It happens slowly,
like the lethagic circles of the silent moon
coming upon me everytime
I dare to come back here.

First the wind is in your hair, blown wild
and lightened by the sun,
which flickers and darts, a dainty fairy dancer
on the blue pannels of the sea
in your eyes.

A spectre is playing with my heart,
a ghost of you in the Summer wind.
Lilting between the sails, the shrouds, the stays,
those places you clung to.
A peice of me still clings to you.
Or do you
cling to me?

I had a dream.
It happened slowly,
like the lethagic circles of the scavenging gulls,
that you remembered how to feel my soul
against your skin.
Like the wind in your heart,
guitar in your hand,
the island in your blood.

You remember me.
The wind becomes real, breath
becomes warm, the sea remains trapped in your eyes.
I dont have to come here.
I dont have to imagine.
Your storm has already caught me.