River Severns Watery Passions

 

A few years ago I found myself writing this poem about the river Severn or Sabrina in earlier records. It is a kind of full on erotic vision of my local river which I’m sure more people would admit to if we didn’t think we would be burned as witches or wizards.

 

Birth is the river.

Conception is the river.

 

Her sticky wet banks

seeded with moon pale elvers

surging in wriggling coital urge.

 

Sabrina orgasms with a rushing foamy bore.

 

The single minded wave

tears up and boils all

into Sabrina’s sexual frenzy.

Her waters throbbing

teeming with little fishes

oozing out in wild swirls across farmland and into our houses.

 

Infecting Gloucestershire’s population

with Sabrina’s springtide sex drive,

it drives the obliterating surrender of every animal to procreate.

For life’s call is absolutely naked

like flowers coming out.

 

Men and women step outdoors

To breath the air,

Oh god forget the reductions of staying inside and all that

Crap of earning a wage!

Sabrina’s horny riverside revels bid

me go down and down,

harmonising my loins with the ones I desire to fuck.

 

She moves silky and sucking

at the sunshine

towards Gloucester cathedral

that prick of spires

how it inspires

Sabrina’s advances!

To consummate her watery passion

upon the pinnacles of stone.

 

Can you hear it?

as on the Mayday air

everything and even the priests

tremble with the erotic heat wave

of river meeting land.

 

A groan melts children’s ice-creams,

Parents spontaneously tumble into bushes,

Sabrina is x-rated and you cannot escape her wet curves.

 

Disclaimer: the river Severn does not take responsbility for what goes on in Treefellows mind, it is entirely to with the hills.

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