Love Portugese

I burrowed underneath the bed sheet,
To the warmness of what it is like,
To push downwards, some warm air,
The days this used to be a furnace
Gone, just like the sultry summer,
And the memory of you and me,
Careless with our tongues and lips,
Like a wriggly sea creature coming
Out of a cave to catch the colorful prey.
We were at that point, mere man and woman
And what we made, could have
Been far from prosaic, like a diction
Of strange sounds and heavy breathing
That underscored how to let momentum
Guide us, pause hold us, morphing
In and out of combined figures, who swallowed
The remnant light, and made it into a silhouette.
We were nothing more than foolish
As an unarmed prey and yet tragically
Moving in and out of geometric formations, degrees
Of leniency that were both filling and emptying.
And we, like two porcelain crabs, holding the muscle
Of our claws, on each other,
And yet, letting the ocean, that breathes
In and out of us, slowly break us.

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