Riff On Emily Martin's 'Crush.' Poem by David McLansky

Your love was like a rivulet
Running to the sea
Dribbling down an islet
That splashed my toe and knee;

For while it captivated
It ran so fresh and free,
I stood in it, I hesitated
Could I let it wash me?

Your love flowed like a streaming trickle
Between the pebble rocks
My foot dammed it and caused a ripple
It hardly soaked my socks.

I want my love to be a river
That sweeps me through the gorge
That raises goose bumps as I shiver
As to the sea it pours