If all my loves be rivers,
then the landscape of my soul
is ancient Sumer,
a rich soil of sprawling floodland
which feeds my ambitions and my
most potent desires
If all my loves be rivers,
then You, sir, are the arterial causeway
of the whole spraying spigot.
You are the Nile, which overflows and destroys as much as it carries and creates. You are the Yhangtze. You are the Mississippi.
In the middle of your route, you become the dead sea. I feel myself floating against you.
You are all rivers.
But you are not the ONLY river.
And that is why I wonder
about possible paths that might yet
connect me back to you.
Even if you
are not
the river I choose
to paddle.
Somehow
I feel like you are the leafstem
which grows tiny veins
pushing outward on the leaf.
Every line goes back to you.
Yeah.
That's true.
River or leaf
love or not
my canoe comes back
to the love I've sought.
Your love.
You're love.
