thirst.

the distance between the things you do not tell me
spans deserts, and I keep trudging through
this blinding heat, parched,
starving, solitary
you were an oasis some days but even more so
you have been a mirage on most others
and I am not a pious man but
even god is kinder to me than you have been
for he has seen a poor vagrant's thirst on dizzying afternoons
and he has brought me rain
but you wonder why I haven't used my words, you
look at my shriveled lips and malnourished limbs
and wonder why I’ve never asked to be quenched
with parts of you
I never even knew I did not have.