In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Oasis.”
knee-deep in the smell of thousands of fingers
the white or pink or yellow papers
singing with nothingness
symphonies dedicated to my heart
lyrics pouring out a likeness to my melancholy
or wiping it away with a rag.
in the written or aural or visual views
Sometimes in the corner,
your hand the only one I want to touch me
the skin of mine you wear
will never materialize
But the comfort is always there.