it is the sand. the yellow sand.
the sky seems so blue and the weather is beautifully windy,
but when I lick my lips, they taste of sand.
Lips that were not parched in the winter.
Mouth, so dry,
Tongue so brittle.
I gasp like a fish out of water.
How strange it is that my mouth craves yours.
How strange that I didn’t know how much I wanted you
until my lips went on strike, refusing to cooperate,
pursing themselves into a selfish pout
throbbing so hard that it pains me to speak.
wandering lips in the desert
dreaming of sinking into your lush oasis