your water-like feeling; creeping into the courtyard of a local attraction I enter like a fungal tumor in the brain, noon sulking with drowsiness, and I leave the tip of my big toe for the nasal wind and the red ants busy marking my skin as the blueprint of a lunch-map. The bridge delivers an inkless address like saliva seeking saliva in the mouth of a forbidden green mussel.
I am certain, the water within the bends of my bones, the fluid sleeping in the folds of my organs, will anchor itself in the white lake as vast as the clarity of your retina. The waters I love---rain slicing roof tiles, a gutter swallowing a dead cat, a durian splitting open on the soil of covenant, blood splattering against teeth, pus thickening, sperm shivering on cowhide---will spill into a vessel awaiting in the layers of space and time. Your water-like feeling will drown me, once again, into the deepest of your you.
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