Don't yearn for happiness.
She is a crashing ball
of summer sun
that softens and dapples
even faces darkened by days.
An illusion that all is beauty
as the serene sea catches fire
catches in your throat
and groans while
below that lumpy horizon
you know the South
has hours left to dance.
Go make a rope
and pull her back
then bid her take us both
over the rim to burn
with the desire
of the young.

Thanks to Iain McLean for the image.