Naomi

16

I wonder if the wind ever weeps,
in his long, searching journey for a home.
it must be the epitome of loneliness
to sweep the corners of the earth
and embrace every living thing with a forced tenderness
while they frolic on,
imagining themselves to be dancing with the summer breeze.

to give part of yourself away with every breath,
until nothing remains but the ghost of an exhale
upon sun blessed skin
makes
a shiver pass through my lips,
carelessly opened to the soft caress of your gentle,
uncaring touch.
you brush through me
and leave,
‘till all that’s left is for me to wonder,
does the wind
ever
weep?