thirst

remember our old poetry—
in folded origami?

your words
like hands
made an ocean of me,
where salt drips like honey
sticky and sweet.

where you first wrote
of your thirst for me
the way the stars crave the sky
when the sky becomes pink,

in folded origami.

but what we were
(now a vague memory)
you tethered so loose
she slipped silently free.

a paper boat gone lost at sea—
some long forgotten dream.