his clammy, hers cold.
Their eyes; o’father blue.
His head red and tight
while hers
mirrored sunlight.
Over rocks the sun set,
dancing in the death.
Knuckles were white,
angry, shaking
lips--blue.
His eyes beaten gray,
hers were too.
The waves that crashed their shore
crashed over her.
An unforgiving mass;
her frozen baptism.
The churning 21 gun toll
he fought for.
He could not be kept,
no, because rocks roll
with the sea.
And like that,
in a stumbling breath
the tide came in
and claimed him.
He’d never be
at her cold side.
Never again.