Deliquiescent one,
you are right about her
each small travesty is showing me more
bibulous public confessions show
the disingenuity of each and every little past declaration:
you are woman, she is not even comparable
you are water on my tongue; a pure sustenance.
My longing is a river pregnant with flood
I would gladly drink a torrent of you, unspluttering
& disseminate the idea of us
deep with the walls of your unquenched well
to assuage memories of an arid desert that held me captive
So, allow me to catch the dewy sadness from your eyelashes
to lick dry the river delta gushing down your face
& let us listen to the rain over our conjugal bed.
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