Leaves wash ashore In each blanketing curve, Tearing through Neptune's might By what she represents, in sight. Her eyes, Two emeralds, engraved. Her lips, Two streaks of paint, gently laid. Her hair, The tallest grass, the closest reeds To curtsy to the passing rowboat. I am the lie, Gently of your kind, Swerving serpent of the oars left behind. You plot after the plot Of our storyline, Dreaming to tears, left to be shot. Crimson is the trail to your following. You are close behind, Leaving me to never mind. I am what you recall, The man who must stall History from erasing our story To pages bleak in blankness. You kiss A petal, that hangs Like a man's neck From its stem. You miss The remnants to a current time. My eyes leave waters For you to count of every drop.