Slow Burn: A Poetry Collection

Lost and Found

I hurried to places

where I was missing,

on winds shorter than my breath

With hands on my knees,

and relief on my brow,

I remembered the days

when sunsets had found

solace in my eyes,

and the color of love

was black; when it didn't

matter if we had been used

Our skin was rough

as blacktop

and our tongues were just as hot

and full of gravel

But when I returned to

these beloved wounds

I found

that I hadn't been missed