it’s just a pool, Maury.
i’m still the very much miserable me that you used to love.
i just like wine and cuddles,
endless nights of sex
and drama.
you talk that sweet talk of yours,
and everything seems fine:
the years apart, the lies.
you want luck,
and I’ve plenty.
I’m all a rainbow with a pot at my feet.
like a lizard
under the sun,
i gently fry my blood.
you draw spyrals
with coal on my back
to leave a sign for when you’ll be gone.
it’s just the same old you,
i know,
but i like the taste of disappointment and chlorine
on my lips.
i like to touch the bottom
of the pool, and resurface
to no one.