A lot of women, I long ago discovered, have fantasies of making love beneath a waterfall.  There are many reasons why, but I won’t go into them.  Here is a poem a little bit about that fantasy.  It’s more a poem about being loved and loving someone as wildly and permanently as a powerful waterfall whose permanence is not so permanent nor symbolic of only these romantic qualities.  Oh yeah, in the poem petals from a flower also have importance.  Don’t ask!

I remember the cacophonous waterfall,
our bodies bare and tender beneath;
I remember the warmth and basking sunlight,
and love so real and wonderful…but all too brief.
Then like scripture spoken on a holy night,
and sculpture carved from a solemn art,
I remember the intimate contours of your soul!
…and lips as soft as petals
from a flower that touched my heart.
Then gentle waters flowed over us
like timeless, incandescent amber,
and we were embedded in glory without breach.
For the story of beauty was in your eyes,
and passionate eternity seemed within reach!
For like a poverty overcome by happiness,
and a madness too beautifully mad to appall,
I remember succumbing to infinite paradise
and deathlessly drowning
beneath its infinitely soothing waterfall.
But now I must endlessly ponder
timelessly and hopelessly why
paradise is often but a day
and lives no longer than now.
Oh, I can but tirelessly wonder
why such ultimate love
would rather perish
than swear eternal vow?
For I can only believe in the eternity of things
and in the ultimate deathlessness of love.
Until faint grows the memory of it all,
as aging years rush on to only remember
the fading roar of an intimate waterfall
and the infinitely bitter brevity of all things.
For bare and tender is this solemn art
where now the memory of silence sings!
…and lips as soft as petals
from a flower that broke my heart.

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