Thursday, April 15, 2010

Oasis in the Desert

I miss you, and I am starved of your touch.
My need for your comforting words
is the dry back of my throat, the parched desert ground.

Your memory is a mirage, but a pleasant one, and
my dream of a life with you is an oasis.

The sands are hot, and the air
singes the hairs on my arms,
burns my feet.

I am dying, and time
has evaporated and left a riverbed.
I am dying, and lost
in the sweet insanity of my own loneliness.

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