Anastomosis

Days there were that saw us surge, like blood through life’s own veins. A river flowing swift and strong, fed by passion’s rains. One we were, once ‘pon a time, so close, yet wild and free. Why could this affair not last, throughout eternity? The mighty pulse of our beings, once conjoined in joyous play, broke into two quiet streams that flow apart each day. Bending to each other only to retract again, Curving over, under, forward, behind, though touching is a sin! Anastomosis! Is it true? Can lovers twine who split in two? My dear, will you not listen? Is this a pain to you? Where is the one who swam with me, from the mountains to the sea? Where is the one who spoke the words, that gave me hope to be? Anastomosis. Still I hope, that we will join sometime. Perhaps, then, I’ll leave the pen, and never need to rhyme. 3 May 2016