Exile

Geoffrey Philp

It is wanting to hear the lisp
of the sea, curled on the tongues of passersby.
It is wanting to smell the wind, heavy
with rain, wrap itself in the skirts of the trees.
It is wanting to see the sun slide
down banana leaves into the thighs of the valley.
It is wanting to taste the beads of tamarind
that drip from the hillsides.
It is wanting to feel the pulp of the star apple,
Its dark flesh, moist between my hands.
It is, it is, wanting you

Copyright © Geoffrey Philp