Drinking
Rosewater
Or, To
Miss
The strong
arms of my soul reach up through my stomach and burst out of my chest--
Long fingers,
though appearing to be delicate, scour
every
corner of light and darkness around me
achingly
searching for whatever may be satiating
to their
plight, longing for that which they can
grasp
in their desperate hands and take back in
cords until it fills the caverns of my person and
with
light face once more, I’ll be home.
