Poetry is the sea when
it washes ashore a furtive whisper,
I write of it my only love
but ask me not anymore
The sea hides in her bosom
many lives–fishes and red coral-
bloody wars of ripping sharks and hidden
treasures, eels and darkness
enchanting creatures and violent storms
the sea steals, the sea caresses
secrets to be left alone
I write of the sea my only love
but ask me not anymore
If you would like to, you can take off your clothes
and swim in it as far as you can
then tell those who cannot-
the water was warm today
or it was fucking cold.
