moving day

every night, every second

my rhythmic breath

like the moving waves

my curls reminiscing

on their dance in the wind

mirroring the sways of the sail

my hands

disturbingly soft

they’ve reached only for pen and paper in place of soil

any day, any second

i will escape the american nightmare

run away

sprint

from a forced fast-paced life

back to the waves and wind

back to sailing and soil

one day dinner time will roll around

do not wait for me

the seat will collect dust and the plate will turn cold

as i drink from the ocean and i am fed by the farm

but now

in my dreams

my hands are soft for you to hold

merengue is dull until i find you to dance with

radiance of bioluminescence comes second to your smile

sounds of waves are drowned by your laugh

you are

my dream, my desire, my home

my seat is the one next to yours

you are better than swimming

- angel francisco