I know what longing tastes like.
Like whipped cream and sugar
In a famine with no rain.
It tastes like light and glory
Everything that you can’t have.
Like the bardish storytales
that I heard as a child,
Impotent dragons of old
With useless piles of gold
The shiny hoarded anyways.
Of black-teethed witches who lived in
stale pastry cottages
while good enough to lure
pimple poxed little children
but crumbled to graham dust
in the mouths of boiled witches.
It flickers like the Fool’s Gold
You see in Shamrock Hollows.
A shining illusion that disappears
As soon as a foot step comes near.
But to appear a few steps further.
I know what longing feels like.
Paper cuts from denial letters,
Ears watering from disappointment.
I know what longing feels like
And I know that it hurts.