Blood Streams

You are a magnetic salt for my tongue. Your valleys unleash my electric soul, death illuminates us, feeds us life through a speaking flesh. I did not find you, you did not find me, we were introduced by storm clouds and the shifting earth beneath highways. Our parents are dead, yet they branch still as the arms of Alder and Yew, we call them to our campfire sup a druidic wine together one mulled from the spreading roots of our ancient bloodlines. Today floats over invisible mountain tops, they are stepping stones for our rivering peaks between our heartbeats. We meet where the water deeply churns all that we were into what we are now.