---
My seas aren't made bland;
our country is rich by land.
My seas never looked so bad
'til I ain't holding your hand.
I never have become this lost
in a sea of choices,
have been confused the most
by a dozen of roses.
I have become so used to your poetry,
and I know your metaphors too well,
how much you're in love with reality
because in art is where you now dwell.
But I have become so used to your poetry,
and I know your paradoxes too well,
how much we almost took part in reality,
yet you still toss coined wishes in a well.
There is no feast in town;
there might be one, but you wouldn't come.
There is no feast at home;
there might be none, but you wish I'd come.
But there will be nothing good to do
for my ship is sailing away;
you'll be back in what you have to do
for we'll be miles away.
Maybe you'll conclude I drown much more
in your heart, in your arms, in you
than any ocean beyond the shore,
but love will bring dangers for us, too.
---
YOU ARE READING
Finite Infinitives
Poesía𝙁𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙄𝙣𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨 ╰ a c o m p i l a t i o n o f p o e m s ╰ c o m p l e t e d "I haven't done everything I want, but in the realm of reams, I already did some."
