2 rivers meet

The river knows the way to the sea: Without a pilot, it runs and falls,
Blessing all lands with its charity. —Ralph Waldo Emerson


born in the deep cockpit trelawny hills    
from aquifers beneath his cotton roots      
a silver ripple sings his morning song
as gallantly from earth to sky he shoots
his instinct is to travel to the sea
of paradise, where all the rivers run
whether he lives or dies, nor man nor beast
can sway him from the land of golden fun

a tributary makes another pass      
along the pear tree bottom mountain track
she snuggles neath the prickalala trees
past scores of barefoot boys with fishing packs
her instinct is to travel to the sea
of paradise where kindred rivers meet
she must survive because her ample breasts
transport the balm that cools the daytime heat

he takes the high road and she takes the low
he braves the precipice, she hugs the bend
his foamy sperm spawns mullet, jack, and perch
her gentle hips prescribe a dividend      
his instinct to possess before the sea
devours her charm.  he greets her at the turn      
she leaps into his arms, he kisses her      
to paradise the newly-weds sojourn
      
© Copyright 2019 November 29
by Clyve A. Bowen♫