poem

Cold Rain

On the last beach
of the night
the rain collects
in my heart
without teeth
or steely bite
but in a beating
puddle, small ocean,
in the concaves
of this last muscle
to enter any conversation
on a dock
where the fishing boats
smack back
at the ocean,
as pessoas vivem em
casas caverna,
and your lips
meet me
in the cold rain.