This the getaway
we take our butterflies to
yearly– the wings, do you

have a sinking
feeling? And slugs
slither along the sauna.

We toss cold water
over hot coals
of indifference.

There used to be no
privacy screen
over the windows

so we were on full
display, an everyman’s
Monet or Mona Lisa.

On the last day
of our relationship
you asked, do I look okay?

I said you
look okay. More swimming,
more coming-up-for-air,

coughing the words
out, choking on the heat
inside each one.

(originally published in Red Tree Review, Spring 2024)