Wednesday, May 17, 2017

wool and water

he was lovely
the hair on his arms like scented river rushes
i could gather to my breast

when i dipped my oar into the waters
he held me fast
we breathed in the late summer night
breath for breath

when he released the oar
i was thrown into the river

oh but the rushes are sweet!
i reach for them
and they are always just beyond my fingertips
while his face
fades into the middle distance

back in the boat
the dream rushes i collected
are already melting away
under spring skies
his cheshire smile
is all that remains

fading so slowly

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