Tell me why you called me yours and remind me of the divine daughtership of a father who never left for another woman Remind me of a lover’s touch that marks one’s soul with full abandon yet without abandonment, leaving her blameless — a clean slate.
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You would think the first colour To pluck out of the palette Would be a salty odour Besides a mermaid’s palate; But the sea is barely blue Instead, she’s a continuum Of yellows to greenish hues Hundreds of yarn on a loom How does the eye fail to see The minuscule lines of light Tracing the crevices of the sea? It‘s only dawned on my sight With the strokes of this sprite
