i miss the oaks trees
from my home.
i miss the sage-painted hills
and the resounding crash
of waves along golden sands.
but,
the desert has its own
special language.
i dream in terrific sunsets
and ruby sands,
of warm winds
and warmer arms.
the wilds
are what you carry
with you.

~lt

you are an oasis
for my tired bones;
balm for my desiccated mind
and roses
for my sore eyes.
your kindness flows deep inside
with every breath,
nourishing my very spirit,
until i cannot help
but bloom
for you.

~lt

and so,
when the sun sets
on that bitter day
of fate,
when the last of my energy
is extinguished,
when the dust of my bones
scatters among the desolation
of the cosmos,
i pray
the last thing on my mind,
my heart,
my soul,
my lips,
is you.

~lt

the way our legs
would entwine;
like the roots
of a rose.

~lt

i have heard it said
that if you know not
to which port you sail,
no wind
is favorable.
but,
with you as my wind,
anywhere becomes home.

~lt

maybe i don’t need to know
all the answers.
perhaps my pride
was what jaded me.
there is still mystery
in the whispers of leaves
and powerful magic
in the song of a bird.
it’s okay
to be innocent.
it’s okay
to have the wonderment
of the boy i used to be.
it doesn’t make me any weaker,
no.
if anything,
it becomes my strength.

~lt