In my rocket by the sea—
He slept by my breast.
His fingers pressed my heart, my sand,
We couldn't wake up.
We could hear violins:
Creamed-colored, two-colored,
Our bare skin
Gift-wrapped, a couple of seeds—
Naked and irrigated as oceans,
So the sky smiles—
I envy his frigid housewife,
The scramble of eggs each morning—  |
