The fountain’s bubbling reminds me of a waterfall,
of how my parched tongue tasted the tide’s sweep as a waterfall.
My homeland was dry. I took a camel across
enemy territory to meet her at a waterfall.
We shared pomegranates. Our fingers stained
the linen sheets we brought gladly to the waterfall.
Our sweetened tongues shaped the names of both our gods.
We washed each other’s hands and feet in the waterfall.
I cupped the ball of her foot, traced arch with thumb.
Our hair entwined mahogany under the waterfall.