When you cry,
I see a sailboat on your back,
but float through clouds,
their evaporate:
morph substance-less.
Taking us back to when you
thought we would be dead,
by tomorrow
and the rain let up,
though we still could sail
in its thundering paint,
like leather beads. I rolled in
the canvas, laid our name
on the vessel’s curtains.
Every glitter sparks,
this weather under our feet,
shaking and sand-greens
better than last sea.
I breathe salt when you can’t
sleep, my angel’s peach.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 8:14 PM UTC
When you cry,
I see a sailboat on your back,
but float through clouds,
their evaporate:
morph substance-less.
Taking us back to when you
thought we would be dead,
by tomorrow
and the rain let up,
though we still could sail
in its thundering paint,
like leather beads. I rolled in
the canvas, laid our name
on the vessel’s curtains.
Every glitter sparks,
this weather under our feet,
shaking and sand-greens
better than last sea.
I breathe salt when you can’t
sleep, my angel’s peach.
