We live on an island
harsh sun unveils daily
our tiny floral cottage
behind the teeth of a fence
red mouth full of holes
bleeding wild roses, bees
fat on dusty pollen
the road comes right up
to our wrinkled faces
sniffs like a friendly dog
shines like a compact mirror
showing off our interior
springs in the old sofa
soft bed like a ripe plum
pink stuffing a fluffy ooze
We are never alone here
bougainvillea pricks us
with its needled thorns
motorcycles scream past
horns blaring a theme song
of last days, lost time
But we turn off the blare
the bloodied, the oozing
and watch the waves come in
closer and closer
to swallowing us whole.