Our Atlantic Story Poem by Sebastian Soberania

WHAT YOU ARE to me is my secret.
when we meet we are simply players of the great ballgame.
when my arms touch yours nothing is significant
that the world wants to pause
and ask: who is this guy?

If you ask, I am this guy your friend through and through
Your partner your ally
Nothing about love or the possibility of lust
The world hates when players begin
The intimacies of dragonflies
It is funny. Some call it queer.

The secret is always a secret.
It does not grow to be visible.
It shrinks and grows inside the skin
like a glacier in the ocean

Someday you will be the Atlantic that hits it
and you shall sink and the rest of us shall scamper for
something to hold but as the story ends

I shall die in the cold but before that
i shall save you from this disaster.