I have lived many lives,
but none my own.
A sea captain, a lover, a crone.
The soft spray of the sea hits me like the honeysuckles of the fields.
A cabin in the woods, with the faint smell of gingerbread...
My emptiness is the sharp stab of Antony's sword in my gut, my blood runs deep red.
But I particularly favor your soft touch as "Margarita" is whispered down my neck.
And one cannot forget to bring their towel, for when in danger it is best to,
Ive lived no lives,
for none are my own.