She is flowing.
Her freshness and moisture has engulfed the land.
She is not at peek, yet you can hear her breathing to climax.
Brave fools attempt entry, spraying her soul and power as they move through her being.
I too made the same penetration and lie trapped as an island.
She does not engulf me, she flows caressing from a distance, entrapping and seducing.
She even has a voice too call, enticing as laying beside a waterfall.
She calls, and to the romantic she is...
To the farmer, she is lover of passion and violence.
She encourages you to love her, yet with the same love will destroy your being.
You will love her.
Hate her.
For she is, afterall YOUR river.
No comments:
Post a Comment