Hitchhiking underneath my arm
– you’re not a tick,
you’re the tip
of an angry little iceberg.
You didn’t seek me out
, while I walked through bracken,
to bury your legs deep beneath my skin.
You were already there,
like a dormant volcano;
my own flesh and blood
, you’ve been with me for years.
Through happy days spent on the beaches
of Brittany and Italy,
you knew I never was quick to put my sunblock on.
I can still cherish those days,
even as I regret them
, while you erupt.
Little active volcano, my angry mole.
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Originally Posted by JonathanManley
