Hope

- Princess Zovanna

Like the ripples of a quiet pond,
it cascades down
gently and gently,
flowing with
the rhythm of a bird in flight,
the economy of a cat in a walk,
the flapping of a butterfly about to perch.

Edging,
slowly and slowly,
through rifts and lofts,
booming and ebbing,
ebbing and booming,
gliding and sliding,
sliding and gliding.
Like a bed wrestle,
inching,
closer and closer,
till it erupts into that
quickening,
pulsating,
quivering,
pulse-stopping
satiation.
Tell me I died a little.