Tender Fog

Oh I lay defeated from the third and second Frederick wars – burned my ship after the first one sank, rode smoking charcoal to the shore where I washed my clothes in salt water and dried out in the moonlight. My currency was ruined, revoked, all debts cast aside – I lay down by a pretty lady who was staying with a friend. She says the key is in a clamshell and in the morning we will find it and I may leave her to her life. And I believe that she is right.

And it’s one hundred to the city and to coax the border guards. And it’s another ten to Jamie for a goddamned game of cards we played belowdeck in a tempest anchored outside of Ceylon. My only weapon is a wine key and an appetite for pretty scenes of topless girls at day breaking whispering damp, crimson things.

But I have eyes that stare a thousand yards – through glaciers. past the fog…. I have mornings to melt glaciers, afternoons to burn the tender fog….

~ by perfectionatrix on November 28, 2015.

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