The Pirate King craves a woman made
of earth and stone, hearth and home.
She reminds him that even the endless seas
are bordered by mountain peeks,
they do end.
She is his homestead;
the big X on his heart’s map.
She is his guiding north star.
She is hist rusty oar
and the renewed strength in his arms.
She is the wind to push him in the dead calm.
She is the lighthouse to keep him off the razor-rocks,
she is his crow’s perch
and his sandy berth in dangerous tides.
She is the dirt under his nails to remind’
him of the gentleness of her shores,
And at last with land is under his feet,
After traveling the atlas–
He returns eagerly, to her doors
to look in her eyes,
wanting nothing more–