merry go swamp

It’s a swampy kind of love
that makes me wade through
marshy stuff
picking leeches off
bitey bugs
that move as soon as I slap
and leave only a feeling of
pain
that stinging thought
too late bitten again.

As I march through the marsh
around the merry go swamp
hair getting wet
bones beginning to resent
my flesh
that needs the sun
bones that only need
soggy mud they call peat
where cavemen dwell.

I come to the edge
kneel down by a pond
lay flat on my belly
my face close
to the murk
and at first all I see
is a familiar reflection
a twin within the mire
as I move closer
mossy lips twitch
as I press my lips to hers
and just before we kiss
she disappears
so I stick out my tongue
alone again
I decide to taste the swamp.

It’s not that bad
the algae bloom
the froggy choir
as my tears splash
cause the butterflies
to effect
to swirl into motion
the waters
magic potion.

As the elixir drips
something wakes
something swirls
rises
and I don’t move my cheek
as a damp soggy fist
emerges from the deep
and strokes
pale skin
clamps
cold fingers
strokes my wet hair
down.

And as I sink
to the bottom
in swollen mottled arms
to the bottom
to the end
I think
how glad I am
I settled for swamp love
as we make our home
deep down
in the belly
deep down
curled around
one another
under a log
like a
crocodiles
meal.

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Tags:

love, daughter, swamp, sumner, mire, yasemin and poemy