Float Float Little Boat Poem by Jorge Alexandre

Thy text makes me warm;
The comfort to the reader;
In pencil stains of led,
Of the pallid colour grey;
So thin as the air.

The words stutter through my skin;
Up my spine towards the neck,
There laid pressed against a sin,
Myself, thy lust; thy love regret.

Thy misery and torture of words;
Bring no pleasure to the common eye,
But I find myself lost; in the worlds,
Of the forceful conscious mind.

And on this note as old as thine,
Shall see thy life turn to crime,
Oceans red as crimson autumn,
Yet all be dead,
You; floating.