You whisked
me far-flung
from home
and what's keeping
me going
is the notion
of your awaiting
at the world's end,
your hands
quenching
all the thirst
and victory
is ready for claiming
you don't
see that,
do you?
YOU ARE READING
Albeit flawed,
PuisiI was basking under the sun-the waves muffle the sound of my breathing; and I bury myself with cautionary confidence in the sand and with it the memory of your four faces. How can something lethal be life-restorative?
