i'm quiet until the fall, mild-mannered until
the mouth of a canyon opens and my tense reflection
is there in your eyes, moving in and out of focus.
i'll be swimming soon, and i'll swim good;
there has been a river at the bottom of all my naive ventures
and its current has always been strong enough
to send me to newer cultures, where i'm comfortably unsure
of her customs and veiled speech. there i am safe;
the strawberries swing off the vine and into our lap
and she and i can laugh and attempt to dance
to music playing on the radio. though often times
i wish the weightlessness would only come quicker.

but it's just bottom-shelf liquor and the cigarette smoke
i inhale and push out. i want to flick it for the last time,
kick the habit, and bring you back in to where all my intentions
are still getting drunk off of all the water to come. but the man
that stands red-faced in your eyes is not welcome, and the sweetness
and nectar of our yesterdays will taste so bitter in our mouths tomorrow.
and all the honest words i'd said will somehow ring hollow.

and by the time you wake up either alive or alone or with a man,
i'll be swimming with my face undersurface, wondering if it's worth it
to not hold my breath next time.
here, My Dear, here it is