her

It's funny how it lifts him
her whispering stream of energy
courses through his veins
nourished fully by thoughts

The profane turns sacred
life breathed back into the mundane
the world in front a swirl of colors
his mind a canvas, with her as his paint

He drinks her in deep, polishing off
the glass marked with lips
The elixir bursts with intoxicating fumes
A lightness of being in an aging body

to others he's just a man with a bounce
he's got a little hop in his step
his furnace burns, clear smoke rising
a smokestack jolting up to the sky

and when a point of conflict
attempts to dissuade
he embraces more fully
a man with clouds for a cushion
can never fall

But as the waters rise
he clings to her like a buoy
Not because he is drowning
but overflowing with her

why does he cling fully?
Well, there is the question
A man fears not what he cannot lose
And can he lose her?
Well surely, of course
all things go in time
But he cannot lose
these thoughts that pervade