Coming to Shore

Winter threads gloss through my hair,
Teasing into a frenzy of bronzed chocolate,
My full hair, blown out behind, and in front,
And my eyes wide and violet.
My short skirt whips at my thighs, and tights
Provide no comfort from the bitter breeze that
Hacks at the pier. And the tide is choppy,
A spray of salt rains too near my booted feet.
And a 'Cally-Mac' man loses his cigarette as he waits
For the winter tides to bring you ashore to me.
I hope you've warmed in the saloon of the heavy vessel,
For a chill runs through me and I need human warmth
To aid my whitened fingers.
I carry a brief description of you in my heart,
You're tall and ominous in stature,
But I feel it won't be your looks that will betray you..
I know your heart, or at least I hope I do,
And a beacon brighter than all the stars will echo from you.
And if that fails, you _will_ know me,
For you have entered me before, Malcolm, 
And as the ship docks, I know you will again...

This poem is Copyright (c) 1994 Kerry Brodt. All rights reserved.

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