Outside of Playa del Carmen
Wind bends trees to kiss the sand
Thirty, forty, a hundred tiny crabs
Cross the strip of highway
Over half will die
A hurricane stirred in a nearby continent
The sea turned our legs numb
A nightmare of conflicting directions.
Passionate confusion,
drowning in it.
The dampness of the sheets,
In a triangle bed
How the sun sank,
Vodka drenched lips
Palm pushing my chin back.
The crabs flattened like paper dolls
under the heavy wheels of cars
Nothing can stop a hurricane
Nothing can keep you alive
a minute past too late.
I spend way too much thinking about me.
This is the blank space where that paragraph should be.