There are beautiful girls out there on the beach
like baubles on the world's wrist.
I'm surprised when they let me kiss them. (Rarely).
But I'm lucky, I tell myself all the time. You're lucky,
it's very important that you understand how lucky you are: don't help me write this letter, just step back
and think about it for a minute.
What you call lonely, someone else would call "not-hungry,"
So why are you crying, dear I?
There's a seashell I want to pick up. I want to stick my tongue
in its salty whorls. Yes, it hurts to want,
doesn't it. It never stops hurting.
And you’ll never be comfortable in Florida:
long thin land of bathing suits and alligators,
the whole state is a charm bracelet
on the wrist of a girl
you’re not supposed to touch.