My Ocean his shore

The container in my chest holds water not blood- Water of the kin and kind. But I bottle it up scared instead of sprinkling the holy water divine. People dance in the first rain, the first splash of the sea, What if with the pour of my water he wipes my existence entirely. Even the first rain infuses the air with scents of all kinds, What if he thinks my water a stench and my love entirely futile. In desserts people hallucinate of oasis, Yet mine is a paradise painstakingly designed, Created by saving a drop at a time since we first met. However I always have the fear what if he prefers dying of thirst instead, leaving my water unrequited for life. My container can’t hold it in any longer, my ocean needs a shore. But what if instead of open arms he opens his umbrella to barricade my fore.