It is the shallow end,
that gives you shivers,
that holds your hips with the coldest hug, not turning warm
until you let it swallow you,
holding your breath,
trusting that there is warmth
in wet hair.
No matter how warm the sun,
you wear black. And so does she, and since you've waded in her shallow water
cold and blue and
lonely,
you think to yourself,
here it goes,
all in.
YOU ARE READING
Her Blue Dress: A Collection (Watty's 2019 Winner)
詩歌A collection of poems, cover by: @itsmarrosee || I am the fray at the end of the yarn, cut from the new blanket, before it becomes a gift.
