Fall River

He is painted murky,
rivers gushing,
under his bold glistening skin;
Blood rises in his,
drain pipe veins,
through faucet eyes,
that mesmerise,
muddy brown and intense;
Sands, deliberately rounded pebbles, some fossils 
collect under the banks,
of his nails;
Sentiments sediment there;
The deepest waters of the steadiest,
streams combine,
in his soul;
His heart is made,
like this Earth was
more liquid and life;

How old is he?
What does he know?
How seizing is his unrest…
that I am caught in?

I am clutching at the brim,
swimming under his surface,
inquisitions into him;
And he is rushing over me,
thinning my blood
with the aqueous near-kiss.
I am yet to master defeat
let him inundate my inquest
my every protest
and simply drown, to become his.

© SoulReserve 2015

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