Sahara
I press along this arid wasteland
Thirsting for your eyes beneath
A mirage of low stars, and in the
Sahara of copper dunes, your fragrance
Becomes an oasis for these parched lips.
Alone, as stretchmarks deepen
The curved lines of thoughts,
Heated winds carry your breath sweet
And damp upon my neck; while one
Tiny cactus pierces my skin with faint longing.
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Copyright © Carly Lalion | Year Posted 2014
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