thirsty they have been
blinded brown sandstorms have pricked
until nicks on my skin bled
burned and crusted
soothed I stand in the shower of touches
of longings played upon a lyre
prayed the winds, harsh though they be
to take them,
let fall upon your lips that sing to me
memories of a timeless dance
of stories that clasped our hands
and tore us apart
how your words seep now
into my parched soul
(Copyrighted)
