Literature
The Words That Never Come
How many bones must I swallow,
how many ghosts must I drink,
before the taste of you recedes
with the tide’s heartbeat – cruel and brutal –
pounding cobwebs against the shores of our memories?
The moonlight washes your footprints away,
and I am left alone – standing in the wake of your storm –
waiting, waiting, waiting
for the words I need the most – the words that never come.