the boyish smile that can save a world from war,
a tree from deforestation, a species from extinction,
a heart from forgetting to breathe. Mine.
Yours beats through a shirt from afar.
Dear Pirate, are you using a compass
or the North Star?
I knew before you left that I would crave you,
the marmite lips that I never wrote about,
on a road trip in between the mountains,
and the bushes on the forest floor. Mine.
Yours elevated in midair, to catch a bear.
Dear Pirate, are you still here,
and if not, where?
I knew before you left that I would miss you,
the sirens in the background calling our names,
and you, with me, ignoring the hustle of city life,
because we're here, right now, it's time. Ours.
Yours and mine, perpetually lost in each other.
Dear Pirate, I know you're gone,
but there is a lot left here to discover.