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Swimmer’s Ear

Its been an hour since I floated
on my back– the sky a blindfold,
lungs a raft. My fingers scanned
the teabrown cool, and yanked the cords
of lily pads. We choked the surface,
scooping breath in oily rounds¬–
a dialogue that drowns the sound
of helicopters overhead.
(You float like this to get rescued.)

Impromptu yoga, bend and tilt
the waterway,  entice the tiny
farewell dribble, earlobe lick.

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