Byronic Two

She rides the tide
on my seas of reflection
coupled in silver stars
and tranquil seclusion;
holding the daily lines
against worldly arrogance
without call for praise
or bumptious fiction.

She concedes her time
to cling to my thoughts
hungering beneath the clock
and pinned to the bone
Every barb I hold prized
that spills in piercing metaphor;
then dwindles the lines
to a final understanding.