You cupped my confessions
like water in your hands,
held them until they began to steam,
then let them slip through your finger
"Later," you said, trailing longitude
across unmapped territories.
I've learned since then: some roots
grow deeper in fallow ground,
and even empty gardens
bear their own kind of fruit.
Jan 18, 2025
Jan 18, 2025 at 3:06 PM UTC
You cupped my confessions
like water in your hands,
held them until they began to steam,
then let them slip through your finger
"Later," you said, trailing longitude
across unmapped territories.
I've learned since then: some roots
grow deeper in fallow ground,
and even empty gardens
bear their own kind of fruit.
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