Threw him to the eels, for the gulls above.
Slow he’ll drift until he kisses the sand,
My Captain, you call this treason, my love?
Everything is wrong in the flesh-flecked bay.
On the ship that breathes water and careens,
Crimson fog, howling seals, hull made of clay!
My Captain, return to me safely, my queen.
The skies by now are too grey for changing,
Too sick with sleet to salvage our goodbyes.
Now I lie, yearning for my burning spring,
And still I sound swept, with my drowning eyes.
I’ve no lips, wish; no lighthouse at the end,
My Captain, how could you, sweet sinner, my friend.
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