Death by Drowning

In one of my more morbid moments, out comes another death poem :).

Your wallet
sits drying out in the sun
on the porch railing

The leather exudes
its wetness into my nose
reminds me of the water
and what it did to your skin

I recall the whiteness
soft to touch
Rotting flesh peppered with
green weeds and insect bite punctures

The water, it took you,
as it entered you,
you gave yourself up to it

And it gave me your wallet
in return
complete with pennies and stamps


As I try to Freudian-analyze where its coming from, I think of 'Rebecca' by du Maurier. Thats the image that came to my head after I wrote this. So I'm classifying it as a reflection of my memory of the book that I read many years ago, and that I've changed the gender somewhat (if you assume only men carry wallets that is. If not, feel free to imagine away).