2 shots.

They mark the spot

Where the Caribbean Queen

Split my soggy heart.
She stopped the clock.

Pulled me close.

What she did next, 

Nobody knows…
 But dizzy, I was spinning into 

Shallow blues.

Hunting for her treasure,

She was seeking too.

For a young man’s blood,

Still sick with rum,

2 more shots mark the spot,

I was done.
The sea salt caused her braids to stick together.

The humid air lay waste to her crown of feathers.

Her back was slick with

Just a little bit

Of the sweet, sweet rum I’d spilled. 

I took another sip.

She stole the excess from my lips.

Two shots mark the soggy spot

Where the Caribbean Queen took me on the deepest trip.

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