No matter the rush of undertow
everything else is still
here. I scrawl your name
at the bottom of the river
I sing it and it sings me
back. What I’d give for a name
so keen it whittles
the valleys of my neck. I’m forever drenched
in this night, and you
no longer exist. The river catches
the sky’s black, ink
meant to preserve a memory. I stay
because it’s easy. Here. I relive
what you did to me, find myself again
in the water—swollen and sullen
as a bruise. I trace
and retrace, graffiti
every river’s bank, drown
into ecstasy
instead of moving on with my life.
I wear what you did to me
like gills, a new way to breathe.
I jump into the river
for days. I forget I have lungs at all.
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