the first love poem I ever put on the internet

Love Dive
(thanks to Khary for making up the phrase love dive)

Diving
is not always a precise art.
They teach us to swim first
so our bodies will remember how to keep going
when our brains are full of shock and our noses full of water.

Diving is not always precise. But it is a choice.

There is no promise that the water
will open to greet you
instead of taking your breath with a slap.

And there is no assurance of a clean dive
that slips through still water,
leaving all bodies undisturbed.
No diver ever leaves a pool dry.

I dove for you like I knew you were watching
from below, waiting for our bodies
to break the tension.

Who am I to decide
when to create such disturbance?
Who am I to make waves?

What if I had left us:
air, body and water
in tranquil coexistence
without ever crossing borders.
Because when I leave, I will not return
the water my drenched body holds,
but neither can I take the waves.

And still, my heart persists:
Dive to her.
She is water,
reaching up to kiss your fingertips,
and each dive only lasts for seconds,
so make your waves by choice.

She is worth more than a graceless fall.