Anastasia Sara Kaufman

Anastasia Sara Kaufman

Saturday, June 4, 2016

The Drought

All I have left to give you, my love, 
Is the memory of a fuchsia Atlanta sky. 
I give you the lightning 
and disintegrated love songs
from a southern radio.

I taste the salted air,
Exhale you to the Adriatic. 

But my love, I am a bit older now, 
My tears fall a bit slower now. 

And you will live inside me. 
The scent of the back of your neck resides in my ribs. 
Your gaze- tucked, folded into my being. 

The memory of your lips melts through me. 

And the purification I pray for 
comes flooding in
 like the rain after a drought.