sometimes
when i look at you
i hold my hands, fingers outstretched,
against my neck
and beat them through the air like
pectoral fins.
maybe it's me
trying to communicate
in your native semaphore
executed with fins and water
muscle and bone.
and you tell me -
"i'm an
engineer of bubbles
pushing them and pulling them
into a nest
for the eggs
of my woman when she comes.
i know she'll come and
when she does i'll
embrace her with all my
small body, and
spit her eggs into my
lovely
nest."
who am i to tell you any different?
you're my fish
and i'm your girl.
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