Dioses Imperiales

he is beautiful, as they always are, but he is a swimmer, a dolphin, living for the pleasure – this is a boy who walks without shoes, so he is the one who will sting me, somehow, someplace, he will walk and feel the jagged edges of a soul, a broken bottle, stained, the heart of me, because i leave it lying there, as some other man, on some distant shore, has his fingers on a guitar or inside of me. none of it would have to matter anymore. i’m living for everything but the pleasure. this boy, this merman, would pick up the glass as if it were treasure and find the imperfections and toss me overboard. no adventure great enough, no kiss satisfying enough. he would feel sympathy, he’d recall previous abandonment, all the while saying, “another could love you more.” it is true. no one is wrong. he lives in a dream where anything is possible. i live in the past of impossible to ignore. he should free me, he should take my hands and drag me. he should wear that sun shirt, walk in the river barefoot and make me smile. so why not? why not? isn’t life fleeting? isn’t love fleeting? no, no, no, a smile isn’t worth enough. he should pull me to the water, make me laugh and make me float. make me forget embarrassment, past insensitive lovers, my father’s illusions, my mother’s dramatics, my brother’s failures, my sister’s absence – leave nothing but the sea breeze, his breath on the side of my neck, the touch of my hand on his chest, make it all that matters, this presence, his, the stillness. he could save me from drowning, or he could teach me to swim.