Time separates us in the most tragic of ways
My 21st century mouth is wet for you
My tongue would rain on your rose petals
And nourish your palms, eyes closed, panting, words.

I grow from your golden ashes a woman
The roses have wilted and left only death cherries
I eat them one by one- I snack on the forbidden fruits
And stain my lips with the darker juices

My words are weakening with my world
I come to you- palms flat on the dirt
Pining for your pinning language
And I will eat them too, swallow them and wait

Until further instruction.