Katrina Kaye
Every blink
of your eyes
is a sunrise at sixteen,
when you told me
you loved me
and we watched the
sun eat the black.
Fifteen years later
you cling to me,
and I let you.
With each kiss
I promise
safe harbor,
with each touch
I seek to steer
your path.
I am
no beacon.
I am easily lost
to the night,
unable to guide
ships led astray.
My hands cannot
retain heat,
cannot heal or
offer cure from pain.
Yet, there is
a light in me
that still hopes I can
lead you home.
Saturday's Sirens 