By waters edge,
we drift.
The river our chapel,
confessions laid bare.
My words,
a fools hope,
emboldened
by your tender smile.
Secrets spill
echoes
across the wake,
as truth find its place
between shaded trees
and the mercy
of your grace.
Here, I pray
to false gods,
a desperate plea
that a tether
remains,
before the current
takes us both
to distant shores.