LOT, AFTER SODOM AND GOMORRAH BURNED |
It’s late, and I miss you, so I take a walk—no mind the circling sandstorm. I want to go back, to our home, where we last saw each other. I want to see the smoke, the ash black as your eyes. How they shone under the moonlight. I want you back, want to say Here is my robe, my beard, my mouth, my mourning… Want to say It hurts to live without you. How much I would give to hold your hand again. I would settle for an accidental brush of fingers. |