Are These Words Enough?
Is this content?
These words I squeeze
so desperately,
the fruits of my labour
dried to a husk,
until the last drop dissolves,
no longer able to satiate
my unquenchable desires,
until empty flesh is tossed away.
I try to wait for the trees to bloom,
for the oranges to grow
to full potential,
to squeeze enough to fill my jug,
to share, to savour,
but maybe store-bought
will suffice this hour.
I cannot risk the loss,
I cannot offer what isn’t there,
there will be no one left
to sip from my cup,
there will be no one left
once the page is bare.
Thank you for reading.
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