Sometimes I pretend I’m in Spain
on a tiny boat
listening to the gentle hum
and slapping of water against the hull
while the sun sinks down in
a drunken lazy eye sort of way
and golden hues sputter lights that dance
like tears then scatter off
as twists of dark swirls, blood red
mingle along on this lullaby rocked crib
to be revered as I close my eyes
and drift, drift, drift,
on plentiful, unprocessed liquid full organisms
Then a kiss
wakes up stars in the night that flicker upon water
Spain
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