Dry Season

Dust storms in my mouth My words are withered In the searing gaze Of her dirty eyes. I am brittle clay Parched for renewal Awaiting the rain. My walls form a tomb When she is closed outside And I am that ghost That walks out in the darkness. to Penetrate her seal. I will Use whatever tool I can carry for her Til she is my discovery. Yet I remember my carressing her warmth places That it makes me Unwhole. What is a desert Without the sunlight? Its More like selfless death So thats how we are preserved. After such a knowledge, what is forgiveness? History has many cunning passages, contrived corridors And issues, deceives with whispering ambitions, It Guides us by our vanity. She gives when our attention is distracted And what she gives, gives with such supple confusion That the giving famishes the craving and Gives it to late What’s not believed in, or if i just believed... In my memory only, reconsiders her passion and she Gives it to soon Into my weak hands, what thoughts can be dispensed? Till the refusal propagates me to fear. Neither fear nor courage saves me. Only her natural vices that Are married by her heroism. and my Virtues Are forced upon us by our impudent crime. for All of These tears that are shaken from this dry season