Floodplain

Love is the river that rose overnight,

swallowing the streets I thought were safe.

I wake drenched,

ankle-deep in longing,

and call it survival.

Love does not ask for permission.

She arrives with wildflowers in her teeth,

with mud under her fingernails.

She destroys my maps,

teaches me to walk by memory alone.

And when she leaves,

I stay soaked

clothes clinging, he…