THE RIVER
By Joanne Leva

Like wood on water,
a young man in love.
At first sight his eyes
wide with level stone

and boulder focus.
A beautiful black bird
gazes toward the sky.
His vision. Her city. This boat.

And the lonesome barrel
swirls to harp sounds home.

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ONLY THE RIVER KNOWS
By Carol Ann Bond

The river an emerald snake winds its serpentine self around the yellow ochre sands and the sound was like that of murmurs and tears. Melancholy world. For every rose there is a thorn. I have my pet, crow, to comfort me in his wicked blackness. He has some part of me within him. I have always like wicked men: they make love better.

The body of my ex-lover Clement, lies at the bottom of the river. We, Alan and I, killed him on a hot still day in May. He got out of jail and came back to claim what he thought was rightly his. That would be me. He was forever making a claim on me and ferreted out all my thoughts so that I had not a breath to take without him knowing. He held me so close, I could scarcely breathe. Bitter bile roiled up inside me like battery acid. He killed a man out of jealousy for me. I knew he would do it too. Quelle domage. At least he was out of my life then.

Then Allen came into my life and made it all bright again such was his power, warm and vibrant like a Sun Flower. Yet we had to kill Clement for he would never release me otherwise. I told Clement, Alan was my brother and well, he could be with his pale skin like day old milk, and his blue black hair that was like the hole that devoured space. And his eyes that yellow green, cougar’s eyes. There was a hushed calm about Alan: it was as if he held me like a fine China teacup over an abyss, my own tortured soul.

We devised a plan to all take a river trip and make it festive with Brie, white crackers, and various berries and melons. I bought a two bottles of Green Chartreuse, a rare liquor that Clement so adored. Clement took it as a soiree to celebrate his arrival when I was celebrating the ending of his ruthless. murderess life. I felt an odd stirring in my loins like an intense need for a man. Nature abhors a vacuum, darlings. When he was well into his cups, Alan smited him with an oar so hard he was knocked over board. He had such a surprised look on his face like a Jack in the Box and I was filled with mirth and could not stop laughing as I continuously battered him with my oar. Then his body slipped wordlessly to the bottom the roiling river. Caviar for the fish. And the gushing red rivulets of blood. I couldn’t resist cupping my hand in the water, and tasting his blood. Scarlet has a fine taste.

Then with my pudenda swollen and engorged I disrobed and began masturbating. Alan was out of his clothes like a superhero in a phone booth and he pressed his fragrant manhood into my belly and tongue kissed my blood tainted mouth. Then he laid me down like a dirty dolly entering me slowly and purposely moving his large cock slowly to delay my orgasm. I wrapped my legs around his neck to take more of him in driving to the hilt of me. Pushed beyond all sanity I let out a scream and he ejaculated leaving a river of semen plunging down the inside of my legs. I took one of my hands to touch the wetness and tasted his deliciousness in my mouth. And he kissed me tenderly like I was a fallen angel. And Lord that’s just what I am.

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