To breathe me into you

Like all the women
Who have kissed your earlobes,
I too want to lead you
By your hand
From Samarkand to Tashkand,
From Paro to Phuentsholing
And across the Borneo Islands,
Where we're in our own statis
Of freedom
To sit for ages and watch the world moving,
And move us too without touching.

I too wish to walk you through
the ancient streets,
the simmering mountains and thickening forests

But a wailing begins
At the pit of my stomach
When I stretch to touch you
Taking shape inside me
And there's the fear of losing
As I lost the one who refused to come

I am unknown to the taste of your earlobes.
Perhaps you're just the one
My soul conjures -
Breathes itself into.