The One Three Eight

Who knew I would find a picture of love
in the arch of my feet, soft yet sturdy,
and when my feet kissed the sands of
Rio de Janeiro, I would become the beauty
you would finally call love.

I will call to you in the bubbles of 
the ocean’s tide
so when your feet glide along the
water’s edge
you cannot help but think of me.
Por favor me pensa sempre.

In the salt deposits
there are clues, small cakes of residue
that commit to your skin.

Pick up a shell and listen 
to the poetry of Fernando Brant.
Por favor me ove.

Examine the grain of sand
inside your heart.

Pick up another shell and hear my voice
reciting A via Lacteal in Portuguese
pushing down my American accent
so you see me as a true Brazilian beauty. 

i will ask you
not to waste your
heart on me
for one reason only
because i am cruel

do not picture me
in a romantic setting
like the beach or a hilltop
there are possibilities
beautiful endings

on the beach there are many opportunities
the many monsters of the sea
each one ready for you to enter
just to pierce your skin
and gnaw at your bone
you are an unexpected yet delightful
body to chew on
when they are finished
there will be nothing left
and i will remain hungry
there is also the chance of you drowning
pushing your head into the salty recesses
you begin to fight
and i just laugh
because you remind me of a human buoy
and each time your head surfaces
I see the terror, the agony
there is also the beauty of
being buried alive
sand invading every crevice
every hole, every opening
like bees in a honeycomb

on a hilltop
i would simply entice you to admire
the view from the edge
and when you are mesmerized
i make my move, then watch you fall
smiling because in the failure to fly
you still look like a bird

there is no purpose in giving me your heart
so save it
put it in a drawer, a jar, a tightly locked box
if you give your heart to me
you will become a fleeting thought
an obituary in the back of the paper