Of You In Me
to write you a poem every single day
to gift you with what you give to me,
but every time I do, my love, I have my fears:
why do you waste those precious tears
on these simple words made great by you?
your very essence seeps so easily, my love,
through the deepest parts of these caverns in me,
your full waters flow to the very source of me;
you are the only oasis to end this barrenness,
and yet why can't I watch you waste so freely
a single sweet drop for this thirst in me?
if only you could see how my heart slips
when you cry my beauty, how it knifes me;
so ration your tears to the smallest of sips;
and give me your smile and parch my lips,
bring me back to life instead with your laughter,
which I prize just as highly as the other,
for know, I have enough of you in me forever
to last me for the rest of my taken breath,
to hold with me at that last length to come
where souls walk through so silent and lonesome:
for every time I look upon you, my love, I know
I'll have enough of you for the courage to go on.