Waterlogged
beginning here is a promise to breathe underwater where laughs emit bubbles break the surface; when you clasp hands and touch tongues play repeat after me while doing butt bumpers and come up choking on the funny. I’m thinking Jill and what’s his face and you remember what the rest of the poem said because of everything and nothing in particular but old fashion plates help me offer my version of the end of it. I write letters addressed to various you’s please don’t break this