water

i think you better in the sands—
no water to taint you, treat
you untreated

so it pains you to drink
the plague they allowed
to stream in your tank

the corrosion of pipes
filling your tongue with
gag instead of words

that may ask, can i please
have another glass of water,
but you think twice about

the matter and you refrain,
keep your silence and disdain,
wait to catch rain, instead

trouble in her belly

the pain as heavy as pyramids upon
her sand-filled back, the desert
contained in that strange hollow,
halfway meets the Nile… she is
familiar with this heat, the sear
against her skin makes her patience
boil underneath where the unforeseen
wait begins; the sun bears down its
weight and her worries soar… for
what relief can she retrieve behind
fickle shadows, gypsy clouds that
move far too much to comfort the
trouble in her belly which urges her
now to face solitude, without
collaboration…. even the dusty road
flinches, uncertain, in disbelief

tomorrow

tomorrow may lead me

through preconceived doors

where i shall wildly enter,

carefree, nondescript, only

with my senses teeming

as passion can tempt me—

i’ll let you drag me down

the long hallway of mirrors

and unexplored corridors,

reflect in me each step

to have me follow

into the orb of (your) thoughts

where i shall ensconce myself,

try as i may to understand

each indignity behind this

geometric pain and solve

you not as a problem, but

derive you as my truth

© mr gahon 1/30/15