You shed transcendentalist tears.
“Come with me, let’s go swimming in…

Walden Pond.
Let’s pretend we’re Thoreau,
and let’s pretend we don’t know anybody.
We don’t need to bring anything,
no preparation involved.”
With you, I would go anywhere,
use our thoughts as blankets,
the stars as pillows.
Your mouth,
eyes,
nose
can sustain my hunger,
and I could drink your love
until it turns into water,
just like when I turned water into your love…

I wanted them to call me….
Jesus, even if I am not religious.
But perhaps you could still be my savior.
Or maybe just my loved one,
even though that would be a lot more complex,
and you love simplicity.