At breakfast I'm sure other thoughts
could surface, besides horror
or speculations on intrinsic behaviours--
the various and mostly useless
explanations to life's events.
My frothy coffee: a dirty ocean
in a tub with play boats and a duck.
I'm a sailor, too.
On the horizons behind hills
where sun is a memory
and yellow is the colour of depths
we met
and spoke like philosophers:
about fear, the meanings of everything,
the contradictions in human nature.
One night we swam apart,
sore-finned and hungry, leaving
our cases behind.
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