The Lovers (VI)

Our love

is like dusty

land scorched

from arid heat.

A centuries-old

volcano, still active

and threatening

eruption. 

We beg

the gods for airs

wet and sweet, but

the rain never falls.

How best

to describe a thing

so thick 

and oppressive? 

That fills

us up and lays us

out, bloated

and plump to the touch.

What leaves words

limp and inadequate,

yet binds us

forever. 

Such sounds

insufficient – how many 

ways to say souls 

split then sewn back together?