A Smile

Spent silent hours, sucking at my lips,
Trying to recall the shape of yours and
Still somehow arriving at the recurve of
An Ancient Assyrian charioteer’s bow.

Spent scribbling hours, selecting simile,
Trying to make arrows of our wordplay,
Make wounds of your kisses, battle chants
Of your breath, still haunted by your taste.

Spent sanctuaried hours, saying your name.
Trying to spend just some of these thirteen
Thousand hours apart, closer to your heart.
The perfect cresent phase of your smile.