Loving you is like swimming in soft waters of a cold boiling ocean beneath the driving rain, tumbling through swarming bubbles, like your fingers running, dancing, fumbling along my skin. Your kiss a gasp for air that isn’t there. A chill so, that it burns the illusion of fire, desired over frigid despair. In my bones, they know and cry out swim and so I struggle and as I struggle form more foam to soften, to sink me further in from mothering sun’s warmth into smothering blissful abyss, only to die as the suds die. As if they don’t really exist. Lost to the oldest of lies.