The flooding

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.

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