If I were you, I'd want some more.
I'd return each year
for time
with me
to tide you through, like a ship
at dock
for a week or two
to take on goods.
You could stow the taste
of me
away and make it last
another year
of voyages and foreign ports.
Letters, photos, cards, and calls—
these hold us over. Then again,
if I signed on, too, a mate,
we could really launch a life.
We could really navigate the deep and storms.
But, sweetheart, friend, why sail away?
What if I asked you
to leave the sea? We could celebrate
not once a year, but once and for all.
If I were you, I'd want some more,
an anchorage unknown before.
