To the Places Afraid of Drowning

I would say, "Kiss me, fool." And I'd fill your tightened lungs with life. And, dear love, we might go under, under the blue, and there would be that moment in time where the only way you would survive would be to breathe my air, lips, sealed to mine.

Maybe still, we will go under. And maybe, you will pull away and drown. Inhale lungfulls of water. I would then feed you full of underwater silences. Let words stretch out to notes and echoes of meaning. You've been hungry for reasons - "Tell me your name, and, bless me," demands. When really what you want, is to be scrubbed clean. Polished smooth. And, quiet.
Heart slowing, body sinking, quiet. Landing. Sand lifting.

Stop.
I am familiar with how body shaped mud can be taught to open eyes to a garden paradise, with what sun bleached bones think about being clothed in new skin, with how it feels to remove flesh rotting grave clothes off a blood pumping body. I do know a thing or two, after all, about raising the dead.
Go ahead and drown.
I've got it covered.