There is beauty in light, like in the luciferin
Hidden on the ventral side
Of winged beetles; creatures we call fireflies,
And they turn luminous green
Underneath their abdomen
And these flying lanterns,
– Soft-bodied creatures flying with their elytra -,
Make children run on the trimmed lawn
And the inner child climb out
Of able-bodied cocoons.
There is still beauty
In darkness, when two people sleep
To each other’s lullaby, nocturnal creatures
That smolder like twigs in winter.
Pitch black is when you become only as lucid
As the clarity of her body on yours,
Drowning you in a landslide.
When you let the invisible hand
Guide you to the heart of the tempest;
Huracan raging in wind, fire and storm
Ravaging the ravenous.
And you feel all sorts of creatures in the dark
Sharks inside your lips pillaging hers
Little dinoflagellates inside margins of your irises
Whales waiting to burst out through a sweet spot
And the ocean flowing from inside to out
Through every pore in your skin.