Desert thirst

 I spent the better part of Sunday attempting to write a Decima as described and prompted at naming constellations. I won’t even begin to say that I succeeded as I’m still not even sure I did it right. What a struggle. Today’s poem is the Sunday Poetic Bloomings prompt: Water, water, water. Or no water at all.

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Bleak
parched love
a hazy mirage of baby’s breath—

my desert sanctuary,
like
liquid silver

on wounded lips, raw cheeks
rough on my lone lonely heart.
sand-whipped
eyes too blind

to see the shifting art—
sidewinder paintings,
sun-scorched passion,

jeweled tribal veils
snapping in the wind.

I draw
imagined
baskets of water
from the arid oasis
drinking the mirage
of our love.

Poetic Bloomings Prompt 59

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