Julian Delacruz '14
In Malibu you left me waxing Sapphic on a cliff:
sandy dunes, rocks, sea moss,
vertigo of clouds, sun like faded china.
I always said I would die in California.
When I watched you impale another man’s mouth
I fell asleep behind your car.
I waited for the wheel to break me,
hibernating like a bear in despair
in the hollow cave of your driveway.
I used to think the Pacific was a beautiful steel sheet.
Now what lies between us is an inner malice of the sea.
The ants are eating me alive.
I’m not your Ariel. I’m not the bedpost you have sex on.
I’m a moth on a light fixture in a subway.