We are drowning in something, not the sea or a swimming pool, but something more ethereal. Saltwater might keep us buoyant. Emotions betray us into the hands of others. Those people we are afraid of. You sicked up in the hotel room on fucking cheap supermarket vodka and the anxiety of emptiness. Rank phobia putrid. I removed your clothing and hosed you down in the shower. Matted hair, face pressed against the white tiles and filthy grout. All that money you spent at the hairdresser. You laughed and sang a song. Something we wrote together. And I laughed because I had never seen you naked before and I guess you were more beautiful than I imagined. Welter of, I can barely keep my head above water. Perhaps it’s an obsessive disorder. Let’s swap selfies. Let’s collude. PS I’ll never tell your husband how much I loved you or maybe he knows.