Flood Of Hands

They do not know you
like I do.

As much as I know you,
there are still parts of you
I know nothing about.

As much as I’d like to say
it was an accident

whatever preconceived notion
I had before we met
is gone.

Washed away
in the flood of your hands.

I know this
because I was the land
they raged and tore through.

Patient.
Intentful.
They carved through me,
heart deep.

If I’d known beforehand,
I would’ve told you
that you couldn’t ruin me.
Not like that.

You’ve only made me better
teaching the hidden parts of me
how to swim.

You’ve eroded your way through me,
running through lakes and streams
you created.

As if I could forget you
that easily.

Regardless the reason,
you run continuously.

If I call your name,
you answer
in overflow.

They do not know you
like I do.

Where my soul used to walk,
there is now an oasis.

It waits
to dive in
and rush beneath your tongue.

My soul,
the mudslide
that backfills you.