do I love — I do. you are a glass idol
blown full with smoke. do I love
your eyes, which to my eyes are orbs
in which something like ice is seen through.
fish underneath, hearts slowed. I long
to cut a lock of your hair. to kiss
(faintly, so you do not notice,) your cheek.
the ceiling high with my love. the smoke
opens like a wound. air ruptures, releasing
a birth-slick body (me) vibrating like a phone call.
the fish are melting. the fish are melting.
their scales your eyelashes. their eyes your eyes.
wet after all, when you wake to a click
on the other end. swimming pools. ponds
with bobbing bodies. the cold that shivers you
pull up into air. the fish now pools. the fish
now air, now cloud. fish mouths gaping
to release smoke, then to suck again.