After-Hours Avalanche

I found you a top a wooden barstool
past last call, boughs bent rough by rain.
You asked me if you had a chance,
desperation condensing on your glass.
I gave your amber arms a glance,
sculpted mountains above a plunge pool.

I waterfalled down your swirling lagoon,
feelings flowing across my frame,
My body, a branching cataract,
moist in the mystery of a rapid romance,
cascading by islets, eyes that attract,
to board last brave and buoyant pontoon.


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