I have a tendency to dive head first.

Shallow friends make my head hurt.

But you,

when I dive into you

I have to stop and come up for air.

I can explore the depths of your iris for days.

Listen to the lilt and timber of your voice for fathoms.

Sometimes, my lungs cannot take the pressure,

the air pushes up my trachea, and tickles my vocal chords

into “I love you.”

There is a spider which builds bubbles with its silk.

Uses air and gossamer as a submersible.

I am laying down a thread behind me as we go,

you can see it along the Charles, winking in the setting sun.

One day, I’ll spin a bubble from it,

sink slowly into your eyes,

and find your depths.

The place where sunlight no longer dapples.

I’ll lay on that ocean bed…..

then pluck the thread.

Vibrate loose my bubble

collapse the submersible

and lovingly, willingly,

drown in you.