Twenty percent who die in cold water do so within the first two minutes -
it's called cold shock response,
which is a really boring name
and kind of how i feel because
when your body hits the water
     it panics
and can't stop trying to breathe
and the water cools your blood
and hits your heart
so if you happen not to hyperventilate,
cardiac arrest is always an option.

I talked to a girl who claimed that earl grey is better than any other tea -
i wonder if she's had anything else
because if she did she'd know
that sharp cinnamon apple spice
warms best on a cool fall day
and hibiscus and rose hips
make you feel like a little kid again
and throat coat is something to be worshiped
or so i've heard, anyway
it's something i need now, anyway
because like this so called fact
this sore throat has been passed on
from one room to another
has sneaked down stairwells
and curled under blankets
and that's kind of how i feel
like autumn and rose hips and sore throats
and i'm not really sure what that means
but like obscenity when it is here
it's impossible not to know so.

i have killed my flower three times since i've been here, and i think i'm giving up -
i knocked it off the window ledge
and then watered it too much
and then watered it too little
not really learning from my mistakes
as much as letting them evolve
each stage a new form of destruction
and i kind of feel that way because
each time i pick up a book
or open a new tab
my fingers linger on my phone
and i'm replying to a friend
checking my email
playing spades
and when i play i bet too high
though i've been low for weeks
i've been as dry as my flower's soil
and it hasn't bummed me out
as much as other things have
and that's feeling less and less incongruous.

the boy sitting in front of me has a really high voice and a really small body -
his beard is well groomed
and it fascinates me
and while i'm trying not to make
any assumptions about him or anyone
which is turning out to be
a lot harder than i thought
he gives me hope because
he represents something i want
something i'll get one day
because nobody looks at him weird
when he speaks so soft and high
and nobody laughs at how short and small he is
and nobody asks any questions
because there aren't any to ask
that's just what he is, how he looks
and even if it wasn't always
how are we supposed to know
and why should we even care
but even so i find these people and
i want to be close to them, to speak to them
because they look like how i think i'll look
even if they didn't get there the same way i will,
but we spoke in an elevator once
and i thanked him for his help.

My boyfriend asked me to strip for him, so I did.

First I took off my pride. I wore it like a shawl to protect all my insecurities. He loved it.

I took off my shame. It hung around my legs, a thousand uncomfortable memories wound tight
like twine to hide my ability to be free and open. He loved it.

I took off my fear. They gripped my feet like stone slippers, hoping to keep me from ever leaping
as far as I was capable, often succeeding. He loved it.

Finally I took off my doubt. The doubt that was there so long it had become me. I ripped it off
revealing the flesh of my love for him and the bone-depth of my feelings for him and the blood
that rushed for only him, forever.

He didn’t love that.

He left wearing my clothes.

I dressed for winter.

I arrived there on a Sunday,
on the dock of that place
where the water is so clear
you wouldn't be afraid of swimming too deep.

I saw you then,
three hours later.
I couldn't remember what you were wearing,
but I remember you had on your face
the most innocent smile
and the prettiest freckles on your nose.
Though I didn't think much of it,
of you,
or your face,
or who you were,
or where you've been.

So I carried on with life there.
I laughed with the sun,
smiled to the sky,
and breathed for the sea.

----------------------------------

On the Wednesday,
it rained.
And I swear the sky rained
on my heart and eyes, too.
It took down the blinds
and got rid of the fog.
It was like seeing you for the first time,
but instead of dismissing your smile
and the freckles on your face,
I fell in love with it,
with your face,
with you.
And I wanted to know
who you were and where you've been.

----------------------------------

It's August now
and I'm still in love with you.
Because from that moment on,
I no longer laughed with the sun,
smiled to the sky,
or breathed for the sea.

I laughed with you,
smiled to you,
and breathed for you.