Octavia

Will she drop me now, make me drink more drink, sit and wonder how, if i should wait near, glean what she's thinking, if her intentions are bare, her eyes a vibrant brown, they dance at my blink, this Summer long, the heat off her appears, to drain the sun’s sinking, what she demands disappear, like an artic ship's bow, that groans like a clinker, to the frozen horizon, don't need eyes of a deer, nor even a shrink, to tell me what’s clear, love is an ice rink.