There is something growing in me for you
that trembles like a child in the camp of
the night whose eyes keep searching for the dew
of a dawn that she’s denied. It’s not love,
but a canvas of longing she can’t control
and yet keeps setting her shoulder to shove
her ledger of longing across the kohl
of the night like a hook to catch you by.
There’s loneliness in me as raw as coal
that you light up like a new-written sky,
breaking a dawn for the girl left in me
that weakens its warmth as the hours go by,
leaving a blink of light that she can’t see
and does nothing to quench the depths of me.
© Keighley Perkins