The shimmering dance is rather a bleed
See her restless tears twirl low to her Ocean
I know my red blood reciprocates the race
Race of water is a pure rain of Love
Crawling so low… Hiding in weaves of forests
She chooses to be low to nourish the mosseries
Her great stamina leaves her touch-spray fresh
Alive with the bleed of her pure cry for rest
No stone, no bend will shave my own course
Like a gentle riverbed, I will run to rest in You
Poetry
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