takes the roof off my mind;
I step into high water:
Your brown Mississippi eyes
peel the dingy pink
wallpaper from my
parched, adobe soles
Your skilled phalanges are filaments of warm,
muddy water and cane sugar; you are chocolate waves of
Summer magnolia clinging to windows opening into other windows; your eyes
lap at the tiny antebellum dollhouses between my painted plantation toes,
and sink me like a desert well.
You turned the key in my ignition only
to drive me into the lake. I remain a secret life, dead to you,
but teeming like a maritime rumor.
and I might never die.