I barely remember how the hues of December
cast sepia waves through her hair. Those words
she first uttered: out here there be monsters,
seemed a plea, not a thing to beware.
A quick realisation: she sailed a maelstrom
mainlining a vein named despair. Lost
within dreams of heroine queens,
I drew heart-shaped clouds in thin air.
It felt like I’d woken when she said yes, you’re broken
but I’ll show you real broke, if you dare. As our ship
ran aground, frayed dreams dragged us down;
to the depths of her fell monster’s lair.
Ryan Stone
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