cold

the water's cold here,

our wet bodies -- dipped in ink?

reborn, perhaps,

or something more myserious,

more nefarious.

who's to say?

smeared, baptised,

soaking and cold

draining our souls

as we squeeze out our hair.

letting it hang,

limp like fear.

we won't be able to swim

when we're chilled to the bone,

so just keep me here

where i won't breathe

and please just tell me

if you don't need me -

this water can't be colder

than the truth that i've already

swallowed.