At the bed of a murky river
I found you wet and worn,
a rare gem beaten to the silt
beneath the hooves of a wild horse.
Like a secret,   a sacred poem,
I  held  you in my palm
rubbed you smooth and honed,
a refined diamond in my hand.
At the bay of obsession you slipped
from my grip lost forever to the
inlets gaping mouth.
How weak we were at the final kiss
something we wanted to be strong for.

 

 

 

70 thoughts on “River Worn

  1. Amazing lines from top to bottom, the crescendo was so precious beautiful, you could just close your eyes and imagine it. Your way with words never cease to amaze me.🌹🌹

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Final kisses are indescribable. They might be intense, confused, salted with tears, weak from the years, or filled with the strength of parting’s panic.
    I love the build up in this poem. It makes the intangible end, understandable. Excellent, Holly! ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Holly, I love your metaphors of finding someone who has been mistreated or felt unworthy and flourishing together in love and lust. They both are spent and so tired that one last kiss proves cumbersome. Well played. Keith

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