first draft

That first kiss tastes like chilly seas.
Penelope's marigold breath breathes the mountainous story they shared
Back into those briny lungs. He doesn't tell her much.
Instead, he takes her, hands locked and leading, to bed.

It's hard to picture what a blossom face looks like in the middle of the ocean.
Penelope thinks of him on an alien island, remembering
As he fingers the petals of a marigold in some other lover's hair.

She got by through these simple processes:
Running a brush through her hair and thread through a loom.
It's so hard to shuffle around, waiting.
Penelope suffered, she must have.

Penelope thinks of him on an alien island, remembering
Him squinting sleepily in their morning bed
And trying to determine what defines extraordinariness.
Are you lonesome tonight, Penelope? You would laugh at that song.