and i do look for inspiration among these stones
because who will tell me otherwise?
i fill my pockets with dirt, my mouth with clay.
but it's not my mouth i need to lose, it's
my ears, that i might never have to hear your voice
my hands, that i could forget the texture of you
my eyes, that i might never see you again
but none of this would make me heal or
any less in need of everything that you are, only
leave me gasping for more of you
each day. and it's not as though
i ever touched you, or kissed you, or
heard your voice, or saw you.
i never managed any of these
truly. i never knew you in the least.