The ripples are gone when I look,
searching the water for a slip of silver
twisting back on itself
leaping skyward in panic
or ecstasy perhaps.
I think about you and I,
or at least the phantom of us
that clings to my lungs on slow days,
crawls onto my shoulders
to press my face down, down, down,
down where I deserve to be
when my own body twisted back on itself,
my mouth searching for a way
to swallow the words I’d spoken,
to return them to the saftey of unspoken
rather than the spotlight
of my glowing red cheeks
as I fumbled to dress myself
in what I thought was maturity.
I can feel nails along my spine,
when I think of how much
I wanted to be loved.