Refraction

I wanted this infatuation stone perched on the fringe of a great unknown wading into warm shallows called hope my eyes out of tune with the murky shoal. Reaching out with lusty intent bumping infatuation over the ledge wobbling down a trail of salty nonchalance following like a drunken, big footed clown leaving sunlight behind with each foolish stroke into a deep blue ball - unforgiving cold blue relenting to a black pod abyss until the soul struck the floor of godless a million stones for a fool to blindly grope with handfuls of infatuation, I quickly rose each stroke loosing a few more stones. Breeching the surface with nothing left but the refraction of lust and the ghost of regret.