Raised glass to river whispers

All while she’s standing free,A sultry white back to me, with pretty shouldersIn eggshell colours, I whisper long and low, to the river,And it ebbs the whisper back to me, in ebbingRevol poetry, and sings and sings and singes meAnd burns me revelatory, and drunken revelry I turn to,Toasting her like usual. I tell her I love her and a lover to her I’ll be,‘Til she’s free of the shackles of planet Earth,And she smiles and says a shackles fine if I’ll just stay tied to her.
 The shore murmured supernaturally, but with pleasantries: “Don’t stab her in the back, sweet lad,Her eyes are steeped in troubles, lad,Wrap her in your caul, reach for the clouds andKnit her something warm with them.For a lovely lass afore you, who would adore you without teethOr even eyes to see her bounty face, is worth keeping by the river,Forever and ever, as long as she ent cold.Your head snaps back, laughing at the sun.And that sun would laugh at you two, and wink too, if there were a face in’t.” The sun burnt a picture in earth cleansing bliss,Photosynthesis for folks like us and her and him and anyone,Beating red in the core with each cursory, sunstroke kiss. “Nothing amiss here, sweet lad. You ask her to marry you,
and get away from the parish too, and finally be free”, the river said,“Free in poverty with a girl at your side and no food in that bank you call a belly;
It’s a grumbling old gut that never knew merry anyway.” And like that the whisper dissipates, in ebbingRevol poetry, and sings and sings and singes meAnd burns me revelatory, and with algae in my cup I toast her with finality,
And wash down empty rivers, and drown, holding her wan hand tightly as I do.