The Miramichi River

The night twists darkly,
just above her waters,
caws in raven aftertones
when nearing her rocky shores.
She is a lady, liquid necromancer,
Whispering reprisals for victims she has spent.
There is but one
who can control her fates,
the tangent moon, with tidal pulls
and incidental charms.
When I slip inside her throbbing thighs,
I hunker low and sway,
the heart stops but for a count
and wonders if it dies.
She is a lady, liquid,
with nothing but her tides,
Yet the fear, it trembles deep
and lives within these veins.
She haunts me, lucky lady,
with darkened wisened mind,
but when daylight breaks
I skip a beat
and lift her lapping skirts,
I sink right in and downward spiral
to syncopate our heat.