your new lover is conversational in bed,
doesn’t separate a space of loving
from a space of daily living.
you’re intrigued; the idea
merits exploration. she’s tentative,
her life is busy and different,
and neither of you are sure what she wants.
meanwhile i have taken the last step
backwards off a similar cliff,
the peaked gateway to wild freefall loving,
and i’m falling, floating, tumbling, giddy and
drunk with desire for him,
desire to be exactly where i am,
and i’m hardly looking at the ground below.
i don’t know, can’t know what i’m falling into,
but so long as i’m not falling out of anything,
i have faith that landing will sort itself out later.
you and i take each other along,
steady and constant, the deep deep well
that sometimes overflows, but never runs dry.
our wellspring’s in each other
and the land beneath our feet.
it affords us the ability to journey,
go along for the ride with another lover,
even in the unplumbed depths of that intensity.
you’re a lake in my heart,
as deep and wide as my spirit can encompass,
mysterious with hidden caverns and creatures.
whenever we’re touching, whenever we’re talking,
the water pours in,
steady stream of your unfailing spirit,
nurturing my soil. when we’re apart,
i soak up that water, drink from it,
submerge myself in it, let it fill me as you fill me.
there’s a lake of me in you, too.
the river flows both ways.
like an eastern river, it’s always wide and deep.
there isn’t a season in which it runs dry.
even when i’m mid air, freefalling with another lover,
even when i’m drowning in another man’s eyes,
your spirit and my spirit flow into one another
on the powerful current of that unceasing river
and know
there’s nothing more we need to do
to be borne back home—
always already, we’re there.