Tangled by reeds
in the trash-ridden bay
of sunny Acapulco,
I brush your hair.
Dried gel
builds under my nails
and satisfies me.
You dive with me
into the ocean of fire
to wash our hands.
My heart beats red;
Leaking, it soaks
your white playera
It hangs high and dry,
but will never wash clean.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
Tangled by reeds
in the trash-ridden bay
of sunny Acapulco,
I brush your hair.
Dried gel
builds under my nails
and satisfies me.
You dive with me
into the ocean of fire
to wash our hands.
My heart beats red;
Leaking, it soaks
your white playera
It hangs high and dry,
but will never wash clean.
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