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
suddenly
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
cheshire-like
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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