Dry Season
dry….my skin, the third week of winter
the desert, on a clear day
dry….your lips, after a thousand kisses
my pockets, while I stood in the rain
dry….your heart, after we made love
that roast, I cooked one Sunday
dry….my eyes, the day you left
the garden, where nothing grows
dry….my bones, without your flesh
the martinis, we made together
dry….the humour, we found in our failure
the vessel, that held our souls
Copyright © Erin Hughes | Year Posted 2005
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