The Locks

The wreath —
so fragrant — as if a hot wave rolls
through golden curls.
The peace:
in your arms I am safely afloat,
as the boat swirls.
The twist:
interlocked are our fingers,
the ribbons tied.
The whistle:
it’s a ship approaching swiftly,
knifing through tides…
Tough luck,
but I take no heed
of the warning —
I hold you tight!..
The blast:
but too late — we are closely joined —
forever entwined…
…And love:
just a whim or the bondage, the prison,
restraints and locks?..
My love,
I’m yours — and will be till hell freezes…
The keys are lost.