His boat was small and splintering
but he took on water
welcomed it so he could be
closer to her
a crooked oar glided through blue streams
and he dipped his hands to feel her
and taste her
each drop to his lips like a compass
to her heart
the rivers long and pale as her legs
sliding between mountains
her hips
and north through hills
traversing her breasts, searching
for an outlet
to something submerged
finding each tributary dried
each mine caved in.
Navigated her flesh for decades
just to hear her flowing
just praying his modest boat
might capsize one day,
and sink somewhere
closer to her

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