Joyelle Osburn Poet I do not know?

Deficiency

What else do we have



but what we can hold



in our own two hands?



Reticent whispers of honey



sprinkle on my chest



and I find that soughs



deplete the sweetness



burned into me.



In the palm, I hold



a blade of bluestem-



dancing, swirling,



wanting me to taste,



what she tastes,



when it rains.





I want some of that redolence.





I desire the sigh and suck



of a splitting cantaloupe



to wake me,



the seeds to carry



these lips to sing,



the juice to nurture,



and my words



penetrate the wind-



carrying love to every ocean.



If the honey reaches my tongue,



I will remember that





too much sweetness will keep you forever.

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