It is in a wayward absence, the physical charge our love demands
It is in a wayward absence of this, the opaque desire I miss
It is in a wayward absence now due, that I afront my musings upon you
My dearest amour,
What bout my mind, body, and soul tether me to in your absence. It is a current that can’t bend; a current too able upon the shores of my will. Your love, due care, and presence, subdue my notched-stone shore into smoothness–if only for so long as you grace the surface.
Whilst the rock play friend to the enduring attention my water bares, risen sun has fallen set and now the crags have fallen gloom.
In midst night, waters glass given composure is beguiled over an opposing wind. Sentiments shiver and ripple as light breeze teases her currents toward stone and shore. Water’s delicate form may only concede itself to nature’s more abrasive forces, and she obeys.
As night extends, storm and wind engulfs. Waters currents course and her waves find the bars that make her. My water knownst no less than care. She licks the stones throughout the night, knowing not where. The hidden crags capture her many times over, never unhanding–never conceding. Yet, the seas expanse, will cede great expense–for the shore is what shapes her, and she is bound to shape the shore.