I sat under the sycamore
Once, I started an ode
for you, Iji
for the nights you were my embrace
and the days it was only your whisper I wanted to listen to
the silence you brought on noisy nights
and days you plugged my bleeding wrist


I wanted to write an ode
you, omi, came by and washed the flakes
like a baby born again
I lie in wait for days you pour again
for moments, I watch your high tides
and your gentle sweeps
that bring quiet to my soul

Author: Cerebral Lemon