On the rocks
where the white ocean spray
drenches the face
and feels like acid
Where it all starts to crumble
like a cookie drowning
wet and soggy
all that was sweet
and childish
spills with the milk
and it's worth crying over
But on these rocks
lying naked and vulnerable
in an awkward fetal position
cold, far from the northern arctic
I can still remember
how it felt to be a warm
racing heart
beating in her arms
I'm done with these rocks
done with all the commotion
of the fast paced locomotive world
It all made sense
under that tree past eleven
in the dark humidity
with her lips
her caramel finger
tracing my collar bone
and her explosive beauty
lighting up the sky
on the eve of the fourth
of July
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem