You hold pink peaches
in the corner of your cheeks
Only in moments
where your words are withheld
I dig deep into your eyes
for the pit of your
passion
What a hypocrite I am--
shovel sways from root
I lay next to soil,
cradle grit and bruised apple
I am inner core,
mantle, lithosphere
the cliche words "I miss you"
orbiting around the sun
All different earths of myself
I hope when it rains
you don't find shelter
that your arms are the roof
I have waited my whole life