A Hangover Remains

I blinked, denying somber skies, that spared no light between her lips and yours but patient, pregnant umbras came, their membranes black and blue, their countless seaborn numbers bred to consecrate my lone eternity. Ripe thunderheads churned in our buttered skies and eerie purple dragons bled. My mind romanced by wise east winds with thin, gray whispers; ghostly, strange. The whitecap rhythms preordained that all was fair on baffled seas, and Captain Morgan cares not if I'm gull or dove; a virgin or a saint. I drank forgotten ecstasy and poured rum laced confessions sweetly rotten I stripped my sail and set it free to ride the amber swells down to the bottom. Forever seemed too short to be so sober, an uptight soldier minding angels pitching chaste, apocalyptic angles of tender mercy and forgiveness. You didn't see me on the deck your burnt mahogany beneath my feet a proud, drunk masochist wrapped up in shrouds of wicked amethyst enjoying dangeroues silver lashings. I survived the rage my spine intact, my will afloat though plum cordial hangovers sometimes roll in and solemn, sea-hymns tickle cyan waves around shifting, melancholy tombs. But Captain Morgan winks most of the time his spiced rum lashes sweeping skies, blonde curls of soft, dim-day elixirs spill to damp bronze coffee grounds along so many beaches left that I can storm.