DROPS OF WATER
By Cary B. Ziter
Cactus in the desert survive on tiny drops of water.
Strangely, I think of this as I admit the difficulty
of pressing on without you. A little moisture, however,
won’t do – I need a spray gushing clean and eager
over the stones, rivers of lust storming the bloody
zone of our battles. My head is stuffed with apologies,
with more principled love letters than speeches
on suffering; hear them – ignore my off-balance
behavior long enough to embrace me wholly
when next we meet. I thirst in fiery throes to know
more about you, to see you holding a cheeky
valentine with a righteous hand while you check
your lipstick in the mirror – and simultaneously,
traces of hurt removed, blow without harsh judgment
a passionate kiss my way.
CARY B. ZITER is the author of several published books for young readers. Prior to his retirement he worked for the New York State Tax Department, Exxon and IBM, including long-term assignments in Paris and Hong Kong. He earned a degree in journalism from Morrisville Agricultural and Technical College and his master’s in literature from Bennington College. His poetry has appeared in The Pointed Circle, Blueline, the Front Range Review, California Quarterly, The New Croton Review and other literary journals. He and his wife, Jozi, live in New York’s Hudson Valley region.
