Feast on Ripened Words

A Freeform Micropoem

Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

Seeing is believing,
I see it
now —
where we were,
encased in
breathy synergy
like vapor from
my lungs,
from one
into the other
it echoed with
tangible cadence,

but I was
too taut to feel,
grasping where
something once was —
but what?

I’d have you tell me,
if only to hear
you say it,
so I could feast
on ripened words
again,
your tender
intellect
begging me
the way I
need.

But you couldn’t
see it,
could you?
Your toxified
initiative —
crude debasers know
but one thing.