by Abner Dormiendo
We got to the shore before dawn
finally breaks the deep blue shell
we call sky, spilling light like breaking
the yolk we call sun. Yellow stains
the tablecloth, pocked with grains
and grains of stars we can only consume
from afar through the eyes that hunger
for something more, a thirst not even
the ocean against the skin can quench.
And we felt it: beneath the granulated sand
the earth grumbles, in need for lovers
to feed it words. We cannot comply
though we slice across its crust. We are only
speculators, spectators. We also hunger:
for words, for love. We are only human.