November 21st
Your body of water, my
body, we meet and it’s
bliss, pure—I tiptoe in, you
first embrace, then envelop me.
I submit to your July caress,
October moods, December
tempests. You tolerate my August
flailing, April flutters. Thus we’ve lived and loved
in our watery way these long years.
Your body of water, my
body, we meet and it’s
bliss, pure—I tiptoe in, you
first embrace, then envelop me.
I submit to your July caress,
October moods, December
tempests. You tolerate my August
flailing, April flutters. Thus we’ve lived and loved
in our watery way these long years.