one and one makes four

High in the hills,
there is a lake, a tarn;
I go to it to enter into
an ending, or a beginning,
like now.
Last time I came, there was
sadness there,
and I left my she there,
the inner she in me.
But
without her I was brittle and hard,
still conscious not to be harsh or crude,
but not feeling so;
I was strategy and cunning.
I need her she in me
to be in me
to prompt me and guide me
to kiss your hand,
to caress away the tear from your cheek.
I need that
she in me
to interlink hands, to
loop my finger in with
yours,
I need my she to
blend with your he,
your inner he.

I came again, now,
to reclaim her, so that now,
I can accept my gift,
take my prize,
with a cry of joy,
with sweet tears in my eyes,
and with lowered head, and on bended knee,
I give to you my me,
and hold your me in I.