Drowning (A Poem)

Wavering lines of blue

Rising, slowly

Like a lover’s lips.

Warm, too

And embracing tenderly

Little by little.

Muscles relax,

Eyes close,

The mind accepts its fate.

Suspended in warmth,

The temperature rises

And the air bellows.

It is pleasant, yes,

But the implications are deadly;

The perfect solution.

The waves envelope neck,

Chin, lips, nose.

Almost gone now…

The senses scream

And the mind and body
Are washed clean.

Copyright 2013 by Erin M. Truesdale