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Swim away through the swamp
to your lover, the crocodile
and I will sing you a dirge.

I made a house in the canopy
when I was younger. You may
sleep on my couch
if you can climb up the bark. Remember
dear, a picture of your lover’s mother
is hanging in the tree house
over the fireplace
from when my father went hunting,
when your lover lost his family.
You can take down the picture,
if you like.

Loving a crocodile is difficult,
like the time we tried to bake underwater,
and wondered what went wrong
and why everything was wet.
You didn’t go underwater again
after we made soggy cookies until
you met him. Now your skin
stays always wrinkled.