Breezes blow from salty waters -
a gale of freshness lifts your dampened roots
and through your yurei hair
like a tablecloth is flicked to set.
Dark pools of honor glance my way
upon my haunted gaze.
Your pampered skin caresses longings
Deep behind such desupere-to 'versions
That you would give yourself to me
in passion's strained duress
and lean against my loneliness.
Just to taste your calming soul so rooted
in ripe blackened soil.
I chance a look at moistened lips -
so fractioned in time that I must shutter it into inner catalogs
upon catalogs of you.
In my mind and when alone, you are the only one
who knows -
who shows such interest in me that only by my
timely death upon a finely sharpened tanto
could my heart be quenched -
Now thirsty, nay, contented with
the moisture from your whispering lips
Enviously touched by salty mists.