I have a love affair with the moon.
Outnumbered or violent; and arriving too soon.
My white lady whistles and purrs in her swoon.

I have a love affair with the trees
that wither and twist and creak in the breeze.
In those grotesque hands, my melody frees.

I have a love affair with the sea.
She cracks like a whip but still beckons to me.
From deep emerald sorrow, to bright crimson glee.

I have a love affair with her hands.
Her knuckles steep mountains, and her fingers great lands.
For no other touch do I meet the demands.

The sky, the lands, mountains and mer
will never be static and will never compare
to the heat of her sunshine or the breadth of her care.

I’m in love with a woman who’s never been there.

J. Zaikova