She moves with water grace,
a waterfall in motion
predictable but each moment different,
a twist of movement
each droplet
like the next
but not like the rest
building upon the next,
one after the other.
I could stand under
water washing my soul
each drop bringing sweetness
to my lips.
I want to dive in
stand under
raise my arms high
uplift my face
be enveloped in wet sweetness.
Copyright 2004 by Peter A. Stinson.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry 360 with permission of the author.
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