Friday 22 November 2013

#5 - Rough Winds

You have never seen the heat with which
the prow creams through the syruped ocean,
spume dashing itself against the gunwales
and a caucus of gulls looping round the mast.

I get younger everyday. Salt abrades the sharp lines
of my eyes and armpits, the keen edge of my nose,
rubs away my lips; my breasts sink back into my chest.
Who hasn't dreamt of such transformations?

Soon, my face will be smooth as a pearl.
I shall be no one at all, sailing blindly,
knowing nothing but the winds.

No comments:

Post a Comment