Water Sports

His kiss tasted of trepidation,
like the first toe
in the water,
His lips had moved
like the slipping backs of dolphins,
his hands’ movements
like trembling swells.

I told him it was “okay,”
that the depths of this
did not bother me,
that I was ready to strap on
Infatuation’s scuba gear
and go exploring
beneath the surface.

But still he stumbled,
pulled away with the fear
of a child by the poolside,
a little boy who had once floundered
too far off the deep end.

It’s from this distance I can tell
the dive I’ll make is futile.
For in his face and shifting stature,
I know the eyes of one who will not swim today.

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