twisting in and out
of the embraces of the shore
(an ocean
teasing the sand with her tongue
and though her body seethes and roars
she ever runs away)
when i only wanted to be
a waterfall,
pouring myself into you
ceaselessly
and we have played
the dizzy games of birds
circling, darting,
never really touching
(lain in sweet long grasses
discoursing
on the changing shapes of clouds)
when i would simply have fallen,
wetly silver,
on the foliage of you,
adorned you in green splendour
of the morning
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