“Hello

I would like a poem about a dolphin that falls in love with the spanish armada. But it’s actually a metaphor for cheese making. Or, one about love.

Thanks”

My love has slowly brewed
warmed for only five minutes
spreading from fin to tail,
like quiet waves approaching
the clean white beach.
 
The wooden ships on Spanish shore,
bobbing – blowing gently with natural tendency.
Sweet tender Spanish armada, sleep.
I will wait for dawn before stirring,
because our love can only thicken.
 
Your covered decks seize the dawn,
stretch your rafters, nest, and sails.
Today our love lifts away from here,
with your elegance – my heart elopes.
 
I follow you in these changing seas,
but my heart seems to only dissolve in you
as you trudge bravely on to war-
brushing my painted heat into the ocean.
 
You remain unstirred from my touch,
but I follow your white sails silent.
Whispering heartsrings tug me to you,
forever across this callous sea.
 
Now hark! What rope is so cruel
as one which turns your cannons.
Lighting the air to new flame,
striking the stranger.
 
My Spanish sunshine smashed,
a rage of smoke sweeping all.
English and Spanish sweat strain
breaking the peace with gunpowder.
 
The admiral’s sword cuts swiftly,
turning and cutting through English muck.
I smash against the wooden hordes,
and pieces break from all sides.
 
My heart flicks unbridled and furious,
but mi Armour is no more.
Shriveled and shrinking, he is cut.
 
I took the pieces away.
Scraps and splinters.
My wooden treasures I keep,
like clouds saving the sun at night.
 
Slowly my love comes again,
and I take one piece of the bow under
into the salty depths of the sea
so we can fly from the smoke.
 
Bloody waters gone,
now we must hold together,
tightly- for the sea is harsh.
We wait for the moon to wane
and wait for the sun to shrug the pain
and my fins can bandage our love again.