It’s Just Like Him To Be Found Wet And Dead At The Bottom Of The Pool Of His Wet Dream Kid

I used to swim like a fish—Do you fish? Only for compliments. Now I take up the sport of watching little boys do it instead—Swimswim like the swimming sperm you were meant to be. Their lithe and slender boyish frames cut through the indigoes and blues—Like a long swordfish up the orifice and into the groin. They like to flip, spit, and pee in the pool—Kinda reminds you of those giddy goldfishes we had. What? The ones who got eaten the same day by the bigger fish? A little bit. I see him puff up his chest as he beats another boy in racing—Puffing fish are empty with air on the inside, but full of spikes on the outside when they’re cocky enough. I like that bead of pool water that collects beneath your chin—I wanna lick it up. Lick it and swallow it whole, make sure I swish it in my mouth first – like a fine wine. Can you see me seeing you—Seeing you like that one time you dived and nearly cracked your head open on the diving board. I can still see the red dribbling into the chlorine – it gets me sometimes . The pool water is looking real good right now; I could almost take a dip—I could jump in there. Fly down there. So highhigh. But then so lowlow. It’d be weird. I feel a little of that asphyxiation come up my throat when you do a handstand—If I scrunch my eyes enough, I can catch the heavy but small slump of your ball sac through the yellow of your trunks. You laugh a watery laugh with your friends—I laugh a dry one under my breath. I do it for you. Slipping off my towel and away from my other conspicuous pedophile friend, I jump in, toes first—It’s been a while. A long while. Too long. Oh. I’m choking. There’s too much water in my lungs—Remember to breathe next time, like the fish you used to be. I hear a scuffle, a mutter, and a garbled whine—I think it might be me. But the water’s flooding my eardrums. The small fish gathers up the big fish from the bottom of the sea—It’s kinda ironic that it’s you who figured me out first. You’ve got grown up hands, you know that? But a teenager face attached to a little boy’s body. I wouldn’t change a thing. I see you seeing me—It’s cute. In a sweet, drowning pedophile kinda way.