Crave
I do not crave you
when the fruit is ripe,
you think I’d be tempted
to taste it
but I do not crave
the moistness
dripping from your lips,
the space
around your tongue
for it is not mine
your harvest is not
my healing
my healing
is made of
self-love
the echoes
in a cave of sorrow,
the ripples
in a lake of tears
when I let my heart
crack open,
and am brave enough
to embrace it
that is how I heal:
from within