Confinement does not rightly suit my heart.

Its claws and teeth would gnaw away the cage.

Your soul, so like a modern work of art,

would let it persevere and ne'er disparage.

A river is akin to what I feel

a softly running flow that smoothes and carves.

Antagonists may say it isn't real,

but rivers never let their people starve.

It builds and grows and knocks away rough edges

with swells of water, aweing in their strength.

It rids itself of jagged, spiked rock ledges

which prevented it from moving its full length.

Like rivers lastly flow into the sea,

my heart will live in you, and yours in me.