Honey,
You had licked off―
all the salt of my being,
and knowing less of you
was becoming a bliss.
The absence
reconstructs the fragrance,
coming from nowhere―
transforming the feel of
unknown grace.
Sitting near a sickle
moon, watching
the full ascent of
quenchless desire.
It was a dark mound
of upheaval from which
the unslept angel would fall.
You may pick up
the glory of dawn.