Lost Valley

Explain how the way poems could find peace on your burnt tongue.

Or will they ever make home in your empty heart?

Will they cradle your lonely arms so you could sprout love?

Do you struggle each night to sleep, curling your dreams in a pocket-sized mind?

Do you bleed words on a wild summer evening?

Or you eat your thoughts for breakfast?

Do you shed acid to burn a million kisses from face?

Today, I open slammed a door that we've chased– miles and miles ago.

The dusty road dissolving all our nutrients.

Tell me honey do you still speak this language called: Poetry?