Hold me down in water,
just six inches is enough to drag
me away, and two feet would
wash away my car, but you knew
that since the moment you pressed
your palm against the curve of my
neck and pushed down, carefully,
with deliberation, and held me
with your fingertips, just so afraid of
water splashing back at you in the
off chance that I struggled against
the force of my lungs trying to heave
me upwards, arching, trying to sluice
through the rushing grey, the spots in
my eyes telling me that just a little
push will make everything okay, but
I don’t, I don’t fight away, I stay, stay
under your palm, feeling water rip
through my nose and into the alveoli
unequipped to handle the deluge, just
like I am unequipped to handle your
ministrations, and suddenly, the
pressure is gone, and I gasp up,
sputtering, coughing, sucking in air
like a greedy glutton, after years of
unwarranted starving, and you peer
down at me, the cuffs of your shirt
wet, and my first reaction is to say
sorry, for the unfortunate inconvenience.


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