Sing Me a Waterfall
By Liz Larrabee
Sing me a trickling brook in autumn
when summer’s sun has exposed
its rounded boulders.
Let your words flow over them
in soft whispers,
your lips yielding with your song.
Sing me a stream at winter’s end
when the mountain melts its cover,
and with the bristle of your touch
arouse me from love’s slumber.
Let your ballad flow over my eyelids,
the palm of my hand,
the seam in my thigh.
Sing me a waterfall.
Wash over me the hot summer
and set me on fire with verses
set to the music of love’s lust.
Let your song burst with unspent desire--then
sing me the ripple
of a gently receding sea.
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