Thirty-one days that I've
peered into your soul
and claimed those dusty eyes
as mine.
The dip between
the mountain range of
your shoulders is where
my hand fits perfectly.
Words cling
to my tongue like
bashful children to their mother
and I cannot speak.
Not a single note of
fondness or gratitude spills
from my weathered lips, but
you know.
How my throat longs
to sing
the song of you and I
but the words get stuck and again
I choke on my tears.
