91 degrees and no lotion

This is the end

though I suppose

there will always be more

because here I am

writing after the fact

even if it means saying nothing at all

which I’m sure some would say

you and I amounted to –

the nothing emptiness

between two burlap peach sacks

during the collapse of a

swimming pool

and a midflight dive

in the summer’s dark

where the water is warm

but you’re warmer

mist coming off of you

as you burn with water

and then pretend to

balloon up with the pool

to show me that

this is the end

when life steams out

from the fire of your

breath

and I try to hold your hand

under water

but my fingers have soaked

age and forgetfulness

so I let go too quickly

like scales that are too heavy

to balance themselves

and yet are still called scales

for tonight,

I am a fish that is drowning

and you are a human

that is

and you try to mouth

this is the end

but no one can hear you

with your head submerged.