let me drink your tears

in a shriveled world
where Love roams
like a nomad,
in search of a mirage
to call his own,
let me remember
to drink from the well
of your tears and mine,
where teardrops fall
to my parched lips,
tiny coins of faith
held in warm palms,
kissed with a prayer,
and tossed into
the quiet grace
of the wishing well.