Their Houseboat
The wind had turned,
rain beat the crap
out of the flimsy sails,
they hovered, cold,
the chill had come
and penetrated
skin and bones,
she was the captain,
having learned the rudimentaries
at Coast Guard Volunteers,
bunch of guys and girls,
with time their best commodity.
They'd be alright,
the passage was no open sea,
shade cloth allowed a view,
and there was just a hint,
a trace of terror in his eyes,
greenhorn he was,
they'd need to keep their wits,
and maybe pray.
She took the Jack,
two drinks would do today,
an exercise in sheer authority,
he'd be okay without,
and welcome to sit close,
to share long kisses in the dark,
to marvel at the way the world had changed.
There would be dues to pay,
yet he was happy with the thought,
few folks would have the privilege,
the taste of that sweet place
where even time will hold its breath,
and where two souls will merge
without a second thought
into the great perfection that is one.
Those last few lines make a stunning end to the unfolding story of love on a houseboat.