Watery Menage a Trois

The river, denied for months the pleasure of its lover’s womb, beats against its last defense, the hymen of a remaining slim bar of sand.

The Pacific, lifted by the morning tide, sends salty, moist licks across the sandbar, further, further, finally touching with a wet kiss. One kiss leads to another, and finally, eager as her river swain, the sea lubricates their joining with frothy splashings over the jealous sand.

Finally, joyfully, the river breaks through in triumph, its final push a celebratory roiling of black gold, as the sandbar begrudgingly gives way.

It’s not to last, though. By morning, the sandbar has emerged triumphant, once again, in consort with his old lover, the Pacific. They will plot and tease the river time and time again.

Who will win?

My money’s on the river.