The Official Website of Aaron K Crocker

We wrote poems in cigarette smoke,

or sex

as it ran down the side of a boat

intertwined in water

from a dammed-up lake,

forced to exist.

Ash singed the pages,

humid moonlight

that burned our hands

until we could not touch.

drops hit the glass surface,

coerced water rippled.

Debris floated in wet air,

forth and back

and back

we reached for pieces

as they dissolved

into rain.