Thirst

Erotic Poetry

Part 1

The cracked earth of my spirit does not scream, 
I open my mouth but no sound comes out, 
only gasps in silence and dust. 

A thirst. 

To be empty of companionship is to be an apparition, 
connection lost in translation 
a ghost, of salt and smoke 
in a landscape of dreams 
a memory of moisture, 
now a mirage. 

My ribs are a dry well
the bucket slashes against stone. 

Desiccation

A hollow echo 
in the vault of my chest.

My skin parched, 
patterned with intrusive grief,
brittle clay curling away from bone.

My geography of pain 
shallow breath that finds only static. 

My throat lined with the grit of 
unspoken desires.

The sun of indifference baked hard of 
a heart afraid of feeling too much or nothing at all. 

I am a vessel of air 
I am light, scattered seed 
too heavy with drought for bloom.

Part 2 

A drop, drop 
light rain, patters 
a shift starts 
and grows 
with scents of rose and cut grass. 

A splitting open of the sky with light.
A silver needle piercing the night, 
a stitch weaving protection
a simple silk cloak, a veil of mercy.

You arrive not as a flood that destroys,
but as a trickle, with cool rhythmic persistence.

I feel the soak of your saturation,
the way my hardened earth resists, 
but then cracks open. 

I let the moisture in gently 
I soften into fragrant surrender
bathed in the weight of your water. 

I am settling,  I am soothed.   
And now saturated.

The well-floor softens. 
The deep streams begin to weep.

I am drinking through the pores of my feet and hands, 
through the crevice of my scars and skin 
water rising still, a cold spring climbing through stone walls 
filling the hollows where ghosts knelt.  

You, like a balm, a salve for living 
a sensual shroud, a viscous veil. 
It’s the way your moisture seeps into my microscopic holes 
with a hope that soaks the seeds 
that slept in the dark. 

I overflow, I go boldly.  
The ground no longer dry 
I pulse with life.  
Vibrant shoots tear through softened soil, 
air thick with the scent of moss and mint. 

The well is a mirror,  
no longer of shadows, but a void of light.

A steady, laughing overflow that drenches like clover in meadows in spring. 
I am filled to the ocean, 
nourished until the heart is heavy, ripening fruit, spilling over,
extravagant, decadent 
like a full cup, to be sipped and savoured

I am love, 
and revived. 

Thriving in rich sunlight 
streaming through an open window where the fresh air 
against my bare, beautiful throat
feels worth every hard day. 

Effervescent within
awakening eyes closed in winter 
I welcome your caress 
as it calls me home.  

A silt rising to the surface 
thirst quenched 
rain drenched
puddle loved 
I can be deeply 
and completely myself. 
And now show love in no other way.