A Verse of Spite

We stand but six steps from the foulest shore,
Imagining the snow in October’s chill,
A tanker looms where the port waters pour,
And on balconies, flags sway at will.

Perhaps I miss gazing ‘pon the gray
Of walls tainted by buses and brine,
Those shutters of smoke and paint
From where I watched you sleep and lie.

I was twenty, with vices and mind,
You a bit younger, though never confessed,
But already I rued those words entwined,
Claiming the world was with you at its best.

If now I could take you aside and reveal,
Yes, ‘tis true the world changed in your embrace,
But, my love, it’s now a wound that won’t heal
For you’ve darkened it more with your grace.