Drought

"What do you grow?"
I softly asked,
meeting your eyes
halfway
in the weary space
between our souls.

"There is no water"
"What can I grow?"
you said,
swallowing
a lump in your throat,
as I swallowed mine.

Four eyes
brimming with water,
flooding hearts,
drowning souls;
yet just not enough,
to sprinkle, sow or grow.