By Maddison O'Donnell
You touch
the redcurrant blood that thrums through my veins
so many thousands of miles away
across the sea
And you pluck
the briars from my hair, those naked nature-bone flowers
that never mind the passing hours
as I do
And I long
to drink the ink of your pen, the liquid music of your lips
in great gushing gallons, not these sips
of stolen time
And someday
we will meet, moon-drunk, in a dark twilight wet with stars
grasping to the wild of each other, no longer far
from home