That’s water under the bridge now,
collecting stones and fish.
tumbling through weeds,
disturbing muddy banks.
low key harmonies ring through the air,
a womans sultry needs.
sweltering heat pushes at her skin,
already slick with moisture.
shes alone in a post modern forest,
waiting for his twin.
the breeze drifts by,
silenty caressing her face,
she starts to cry.
he wears a guilty grin.
he tears are heavy with regret,
she lays her head against cool stone.
the trees sway with delicate pause,
the water passes by like the ability to forget