Pirate Sonnet #4

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Southerly I sail.

Timber tested by a salty adversary.

Compass tricked by belligerent winds.

This silk is filled with a push toward belonging.

No rest for this anchor, till I reach your shore.

Will you be waiting, arms like a beacon?

Guiding me into your harbour heart.

Or are you faithless, a captive to impatience

Lain with another twixt the sheets which you would shroud our buried love.