Ocean Mile

Did you know?

I've been counting basketballs ever since the day you said
no man would reach out to the sky for me, because
the sun doesn't contain as many fingerprints
as those man-made, leather-like oranges,
and those that dream will only
burn.

I think talking to me must've felt as dramatic
as a Taylor Swift song about love, or as contradictory
as a sunny winter afternoon.
Maybe my cheeks were just made
to glow, and your imagination couldn't help
but take the shade of a baboon's butt,
and I can't help but wonder that if there were castles
in the clouds, our fingertips must've felt like pinpricks
against one another. Maybe all that we see or seem
are just different dreams within the same dream,
but even half-quoting and half-plagiarizing Edgar Allan Poe
wouldn't do our distance justice.

So I'll blame the fact that beaches in the Netherlands
are grey, hence the blues are further. And I'll blame the fact
that the golden sand you so often tyrannize, must've
brushed all sensors of beauty
off you.

25-07-2013
10:20 PM