All poets live in exile,
she said while pulling the sheets over
the words between the lines
as her head lay upon his chest
to hear the ocean of his heart.

Hand on his stomach,
she whispered you ease
the constricting pain
of such realizations, allow me
to allay the shadows of sadness
speaking soft rumors just beyond
the windows of my perception.

All poets live in exile
she said as she twined him beneath
in the blankets of expectation
while he anticipated her passion
traveling the length of his body
to the Diaspora that for a single moment
they could call their own.