ancient, fragile Dead Sea Scrolls,
sans animal skin, sans papyrus,
my paramour’s script as elusive as
the Qumran Caves, our romance
an equivalent Judaean Desert where
dry air kept fervor's proclivities from
melting into an endless fluid tryst;
yes, yes, yes—your perfumed missives
added an ineffable essence to pages of
vulnerable self-revelation, confessions
revisited today—eyes misty, heart lonely;
words intended to be read by me alone;
I now want the world to mourn my loss.