unhand me, that i may find myself
as flecks of gold along the Tigris-Euphrates,
as waters for lakes to house every low moon
forming dust in my wake.
even through ache, in absence i yearn only
for my name on your lips, that you remember me so;
that even if late, i shall witness your voice
spoken with presence as presently is,
i will find your heart —
and not merely echoes.
— A. P.