Now, Going On Forever.

It's now about fifteen days
into what should be
the worst time of my life.

And I'm loving every second of it.

The sun hasn't risen just yet,
but the glow has given a blue tint
to the deep green palms of our shelter.

You are my shelter, love.

A gull cries, or perhaps a great albatross,
as I've never been one for telling a birds call.
But the moan I know like my own breath.

I'm actually giddy to see you stir.

A small otter slips gracefully back to sea,
as the sun breaks its truce with the night,
and the palms and sands are set ablaze.

Our prison explodes in brilliant hues.

I open the trunk we floated in on,
pulling out the aged and crooked Victrola
and a bit of Beatles and Otis Redding.

As I wind it, I see your unconscious stretch, and I grin.

I grab the koa guitar we found on the southern shore,
checking the tune and rubbing the neck.
Playing for the sun should do the trick.

And when your eyes open, it beats any sunrise.

After a bit of music, and some food,
it's time for the day, and we snuggle in,
certain to make the most of it.

We pull out the champagne, and pretend it's rum.

It's going on sixteen days into what should be
the worst time of my entire life,
Trapped on an island with only her to sustain me.

And I'm just praying it never ends.