You’re alive not unhappily although that smirk tells me you’re cracking near the reservoir with your handmade flies enticing the brown trout that hides in the rock’s shadow. You’re sexy in mist so deep snakes journey and we can’t see them. I’m peeled to skin and sultry in humidity that feels like cum—it’s so hot, love, you can’t behave, and I’m not worried about my bare feet (snakes!) or my bare breasts (cops!). Everything breathes at the end of your line—catfish, bass, creatures that suck the bottoms of lakes and can’t see us on shore in the cool dim in the summer of your suicide.