Perhaps I was
cardamom
in your coffee,
scent of cinnamon
after too long;
spice of life.
Yet for you
I traversed
the Silk Roads,
entered tribal lands,
became lost.
Sacred songs
encircled me,
of wildness
and love,
holy longing.
In this desert,
arid and mysterious,
your lips
are like
water.
Are you an oasis
or mirage?
I cannot tell.
Still, I drink deeply
of you,
subsisting on
memories;
your lingering reflection
in this shimmery well
of dreams.
