I can't stop
sinking about you.
Below myself, underneath
the warm water of existence
that I prefer, that serene six inches
pooled at the top,
heated by love and
the sun.

I can't stop
sinking about you.
Frigid layers of ocean are
suspended underneath me.
Cold water flirts with
my organs, seeps
into my hair, collects
tiny frozen membranes
between my toes.

I am not a girl, I am
a ship mid-wreck
unlikely
to be found.

You're not a man, you are
an anchor pulling my
already heavy heart
straight down.