The One About Why

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.

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