a beginning with no end, yet

I begin to notice
now.
Being downwind from loneliness.
Like raft logs
in whitewater
I am both afloat
and sunken,
praying for
the day I am
named driftwood
and burn
as two soulmates
spend sand in
the search for beauty
not seen by firelight.
I have not been
waterlogged, yet.
But I've swallowed
my share of rapids.
There is not
enough wine
in this world
to wash me from you
I know this
and I almost apologized, but I was far too jealous.