Building a boat from the woods of empathy, to set sail again once more,
The feels of sturdy vessel made manifest, destiny as rough sailing hands
Pull my ropes and swab clean the decks of lust.
Finding myself lone and sailing, I spot a rock a'swathe with whores of the ocean,
They bellow and roar greetings, the anger is loud, but underneath threats of impaling
Lies soto voce a gleam of sexual abandonment.
The whores were actually
