Drowning

The seagulls sound is soft to me,
They do not screech but sing.
And bring to mind those summer nights,
We could not sleep but cling.
Where they would fly in dark blue night,
All white with stars behind.
While soft, your lips caressed my chest,
Pure song caressed my mind.
But here, soft night-sky’s silent now,
No seagulls sing outside.
In lonely room and dark awake,
I drown in turning tide.