Shouting through the desert
and there's no one to hear
because my poems about love aren't
accurate, or good enough, when
words cannot describe what they are meant to describe. I like grass between my toes
and wind in your hair
and how it feels to wake up
and the way you look when you wake up
that smile that you only just started having
I can't write it down because
the spark in your eye has never been visible before, and no one has seen it but me
I like hugs and kisses and late night talks and
breakfast food and blue skies and gray skies
green skies red skies
and shouting through the desert is all I can do.