Heart 💜

She was a poem I loved,
whom my other poems envied
Not that I looked at her more,
but she loved me in a way
others could not fathom

I spent my nights tracing her words
Sleeping in her lap and then
waking up to find her gone for another day

They said she was an illusion
Fantasy of a poet's lonely heart
But my heart was neither lonely
nor broken
but empty and cold

Then I realized that the most beautiful mirages
happened in the emptiest and hottest desserts
and they happened to the wanderers