If I chose fins instead of feet
I’d swim back the past
Instead of round-faced-boy
with lovely-lashes laughing-lips
asking what do you desire
behind the deli counter
he might float up close
tongue sandwich in flipper
offering me a taste of not-forget
Instead of first-date in greening-park
my Latino-will-be-lover
looking straight into my eyes
would flick his fins against my skin
and lick me with his briny lapper
Instead of glowing afternoons
spinning summer out forever
we would stroke through hidden caves
going down-down deeper-in
Instead of his phone ringing on-and-on
mystery foiled by mustached-man
of droopy lids and bulging belly
droning “bagels? salted? cream cheese? butter?”
we would what?
Swim and swim
til bellies up, expire?