Husband and Wife

I am a well he drinks from
as he spends his seventh day
wandering the desert.

I’ve camped in waiting
And know the roughness
of the terrain,
the burning banality of work.

He built our home by hand
and like a bird I added
shiny things to reflect
the sun a thousand times
to guide him home.

My body is his haven,
the end of a chase
and the beginning of a pursuit.

He lays his head on my breasts
slides his hand down my belly.

The well will never run dry.

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