hands wring
cold sweat,
dry tongue runs
along teeth
each lap a question,
an anxiety
to tell you,
softly, my thoughts.
should lovers swim
such a wide chasm
of thought? finger tips
barely brush the abyss
but then I think
about the prophet
palms clammy
feverish reciting
each word of his explanation
wondering if even his wife
would think him mad.
perhaps stressed divides
can still be bridges.
Jun 16, 2020
Jun 16, 2020 at 10:18 AM UTC
hands wring
cold sweat,
dry tongue runs
along teeth
each lap a question,
an anxiety
to tell you,
softly, my thoughts.
should lovers swim
such a wide chasm
of thought? finger tips
barely brush the abyss
but then I think
about the prophet
palms clammy
feverish reciting
each word of his explanation
wondering if even his wife
would think him mad.
perhaps stressed divides
can still be bridges.
