Do Not Look for Me in the Market of Bodies

Do not look for me in
the market of bodies.

I am the scent in the air after touch is gone.

The real meeting
happens where hands cannot reach,

and eyes go blind with wanting.

The lover who clutches the rose

will miss its fragrance.

It is in the space between us

that the wine of union is poured.

Do not rush to fill it.

Let it stretch like moonlight

over the desert of longing.

The lovers who know this walk for miles without arriving, 

and yet they are never far.

They drink from the same silence.


They lie in beds of tethered air,

and feel more held than those in each other’s arms.