Ficly

Mississippi

The sky stretches out
endlessly above the
mouth of the greatest
river known to
me.

However, we do not
witness the water gurgling
from its earthly prison.
We ignore the trickling
tributaries, the slow
streams, the raging
rivers as the water
flows south.

We lay beneath the grass,
entwined in a bed
of our favorite flowers.
(I, roses,
and you,
tiger lilies)

The rain comes and
floods the river banks.
My clothes get wet,
and you complain
that your shoes are muddy.

Laughing, we race
toward the river and
plunge in,
head first,
and we let the slippery
water
wash away
our fears.

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