The ocean wants to suck up the sun’s sins
by immersing the sun in the profundities
of its floor with the promises
of beautiful coral reefs and starfish,
so the frigid water can expiate its fire—
the sun’s scorching desire to singe
the lighter pigmented flesh,
the sun’s narcissism that conceals
smaller stars,
the sun’s thirst for evaporating
juices from delicious fruits—
with the crustaceans clawing
craters in its body.
The sun comes back up after a salt-rich rest,
a luminous, but not overbearing, combination
of anorthosite and basalt, and it can cool
the seared skin,
reveal the stars,
preserve the nectar.
I tiptoe around the broken seashells,
hesitantly swim towards our foreboding
horizon, and there you wait to better me.
by immersing the sun in the profundities
of its floor with the promises
of beautiful coral reefs and starfish,
so the frigid water can expiate its fire—
the sun’s scorching desire to singe
the lighter pigmented flesh,
the sun’s narcissism that conceals
smaller stars,
the sun’s thirst for evaporating
juices from delicious fruits—
with the crustaceans clawing
craters in its body.
The sun comes back up after a salt-rich rest,
a luminous, but not overbearing, combination
of anorthosite and basalt, and it can cool
the seared skin,
reveal the stars,
preserve the nectar.
I tiptoe around the broken seashells,
hesitantly swim towards our foreboding
horizon, and there you wait to better me.