FreeWrights Peer Review™

she has a stupid grin.
a grin the cat would like to
call its own.

for ships have no place in
the middle of the
desert; or dessert
but in the waters hands
a ship may be at peace.

with a cat on its deck
the ship may squeal and
fall into a little squall.
and the ocean may speak
(to the mast) of clouds it
use to know, and rain-storms
it once loved

but by the fireside her stupid
grin sits there; smoking,
playing devil to my cock


rising out from misty isle
and heading into desert stretch.