within the loops and lines of our initial correspondence,
each letter holds the history of its defining nature

                                                 now, some will not slip cleanly from my mouth

instead hook into the valley of my lips,
force themselves through the fleshiness of my cheek,
and attempt to jump-swim back down my throat
             choke me         with their spurred dorsal fin, gaping gills
a fish refusing its fate

and I’m reminded of that time at the lake,
where tannins colored the bottom of our paper cups,
dew falling on our faces,
and you told me I tasted like the lake
– spruce and freshwater life –
a memory we share, even if, by next morning,
we see the evening differently
me acutely aware you will never claim me
while you suffer with the fish bones you dared swallow

even through your denial,
you cannot question how,
when I say your name, 
my voice always quivers