I have recently been reading through some of my older poems. This was written with the intention of keeping it to myself, as I often do these past few years with more personal poetry. I have been short on time for writing lately, so I decided to tweak this one a bit, and share it here.
Maybe you ask
Why do I carry the dream of us in my heart?
I think of your skin,
moist and heated under the glide of my fingers,
and the way your name is a salty sweet kiss
across my searching tongue.
Still, I cannot shape words into an answer.
Why does a traveler take a flask
into the desert?