she cried a river of him

she cried a river of him
let him flow down her cheeks
empty into her barren loins

the years he spent in pursuit
the times he waited patiently
for a favorable word,
savoring each as a rare delicacy
the games they shared
the promises made
and the dance,
oh, the dance they danced, all
culminating,
not in a mighty torrent

but in a trickle over dry earth

his passion would not flow
for her,
leaving a flood of heartache
loves that never were
songs no one would write for her
hot tears shed in private
of love,
oh, the dear, sweet love, so
tender,
moaning,
dying to touch, to touch, to touch
and lick
and taste
and scream her name

it would never be thus
not for her,
she had tied her heart’s anchor
to the vessel of his love
only to watch it sadly moored
too close to the shore

she would never taste the fruit of it
not savor love’s sweetest nectar
have it drip, longingly, sugary sweet
from her lips,
down her throat,
fill her core with it

she must sit by the shore
of the placid river
and fill it with her tears
empty tears
empty tears

empty her tears
into his dry lagoon

for she weeps of loves she missed
fears the death of chances
and sunken dreams

her beauty sits unknown
and I sit along her shore
daring not,
but wondering,
wondering
wondering

wondering
if I might learn
to swim

2 Comments

  1. amysomday says:

    Beautifully written, Mr Jones. Thank you for this 🙂

    1. Thanks, Amy. I’m glad you liked it.

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