My chest feels
like a round plastic bobber
on taut fishing line,
red, white, and red;
Floating half in,
half out
upon your surface
that I was not meant to lunge beneath,
but still you drag me
against gravity
and dare me
to fill my hollow insides
with wet urgencies
that only come
by the chance of love
and the threats
of loss.

written on 06/08/2010 by: Matt Kane