tagNon-Erotic PoetryIn Japanese: Tsuri

In Japanese: Tsuri


There is an ocean of black-haired waves
but surrounded by the people, I still see
loneliness crashing down the boardwalk.

Sachi-chan gets lost in the dark waters
I search for her, dive under,
holding my breath, but I'm assaulted
by too many faces in my personal space
in a place where there is no room
to move. Too many conversations
makes my ears go pop in the ring of
cellphones and talking all at once.

She's quick in the waters, done this
swish and disappear more than not;
she likes me needing her in this din.
I think she probably laughs when she
does. Manipulative yes, but I've never
had a woman who didn't try to hook me
with a little bit of that in her sauce.

Must have air. I'm not a fish; swim
against current to press the glass
and rise for that precious commodity.

I've lost her for now, but will find her
again between crisp white sheets
in a frayed crimson kimono
that's been torn off so many times
it's merely silken rose colored threads.

Maybe I am a carp after all, her bait,
plied with yuzu cocktails and sex,
her golden fish in a pond but by now,
I'm so wabi-sabi with that, I'm her koi.

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