Dew splashes
in the
winter-time
saturating
everything
soggy
branches
but our
skin
wrapped inside
our houses
immune
to what
we need
on this voyage.

A soaking
in the rain
to me
is
satisfaction
on a grand
and wish-ful
scale.

I don't wish
to be saved
unless the scales
announce
I have failed
but as a flip flop fish,
survived the hail,
of fishing lines,
dreamy is red wine...
Fishing ends
These men
have it made,
as the *****
will flow
to their minds.