You make me hate the water--
fish floating up to greet the skirts of bloated bodies, hearts brimming,
fanning like gills.
Water gets rid of prints, rusts the sins. Your wife will never know. If so
you can blame it all on the siren, the stupid bitch with charcoal eyes
who hates the water
but you lied
and said it was romantic.
I looked right into your face, your grunts a hollow bellow, eyes fevered with alcohol.
It's easy to say I'm sorry. It's harder to drown,
gasping, sirens seeing nothing. You make me hate the water--
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