Your face lurked beneath the moon's reflection, vast and still in the midnight sea.
She could crush our little wooden ship in her palm, I thought.
Maybe you did. I was overboard before I could find out.
Your heart beats slow and thunderous in the icy dark.
And I'm yours forever.
What is a writer?
A miserable little pile of words!
Call me MP or Miz
Fiction attempted, with various levels of success.
Yes, I do need help, thank you for noticing.
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