I don't fancy the wind.
It listens and bends as I move through it,
but
There is no strength in a breeze, and its kisses blow away in the gusts.
No, give me a creek to caress me, to wet my skin.
To understand my tears, to lull me to sleep.

I would liken you
To the salt flats
Were it not for your freckles.
I would liken you
To an empty canvas
Were it not for your sins.