too long since i've last cast letters upstream.

watching my wounds bead, bubble, and bleed,
i've been stationary ashore,
sympathyzing with thoughts synonymous with sinking.

from my first drowning,
i wouldn't dare say intentional,
my brother, the rocket,
spared our mother years
of decaying, greying grief.
since then,

none other has kept me
from kissing the open mouth
of every river.

sensationalizing the water's embrace,
its body,
large like my own,
is unforgiving in strength and pull.

my body, orgasmic,
succumbs to its own frailty.