Untitled, by Drewe Rain

Sand pelts my arms and face
The sting is audible, a sound of pain
I should want and demand water, rain.
This desert is barren, no person to trace.

Crawling, tongue swollen, mouth dry
My skin cringes, my eyes sink
Oh,when might I be able to drink?
Not even a tear shall fall from my eye.

I am so dry I cannot bleed.
But it's not water that I need.
My thirst is born of love for you.
I must drink deeply of your dew.

Yet thirst quenched clears not my hunger.
Like the desperate, cold victims of Donner Pass.
Or survivors of the tragic Andes plane crash.
Resorting to cannibalism, eating each other.

A Ravenous want depletes my energy.
The appetite threatens to destroy me.
Starving for your love,longing for your flesh,I must partake.
Like a rotten slack jawed zombie, from the grave awake.

Or a tick with belly rounded, now falling off the dog.
Gorged and guzzled as if a market ready hog.
But even with chewing, gnawing, dining on you.
My Soul is unfulfilled, gluttony has not renewed.

Without your love and ardor I cannot breathe.
Asthma, tuberculosis, my lungs squeal and wheeze.
I cough, convulse, whoop, gasp and sneeze.
The world's noxious fumes threaten to overcome me.

Take pity on a thirsty maiden, let me drink of you.
Rescue me from my hunger, love, help me renew.
Without reservation offer me you, don't make me pursue.
Give me your aroma and spice, your scent, your perfume.

I ache for you and crave. I yearn for you and desire.
Place you upon my table. Set my breath on fire.
Pour your aura into a glass. Place it in my fingers.
Your taste upon my lips, your sweet season lingers.

I must have you to live. I need and demand.
Without you I will wither, the world dimmed and bland.
Come to me, love me, celebrate our union.
Together and forever joined with fusion.

The Thankful List, revisted

10 more things I am thankful for:

1. My new multicolored bat magnet

2. Fridays

3. June 18, 1962

4. Mignon and Leone

5. Labor Day, July 4, August - heck I just love the summer months

6. my silver and green amber bat necklace

7. opportunities to look forward

8. monkeys

9. rasperries and cherries, bobbing and effervescing at the bottom of my zima

10. soft comfy pillows, smooth sheets and my bed

Waiting, by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Waiting
The sun has slipped his tether
And galloped down the west.
(Oh, it’s weary, weary waiting, love.)
The little bird is sleeping
In the softness of its nest.
Night follows day, day follows dawn,
And so the time has come and gone:
And it’s weary, weary waiting, love.

The cruel wind is rising
With a whistle and a wail.
(And it’s weary, weary waiting, love.)
My eyes are seaward straining
For the coming of a sail;
But void the sea, and void the beach
Far and beyond where gaze can reach!
And it’s weary, weary waiting, love.

I heard the bell-buoy ringing—
How long ago it seems!
(Oh, it’s weary, weary waiting, love.)
And ever still, its knelling
Crashes in upon my dreams.
The banns were read, my frock was sewn;
Since then two seasons’ winds have blown—
And it’s weary, weary waiting, love.

The stretches of the ocean
Are bare and bleak to-day.
(Oh, it’s weary, weary waiting, love.)
My eyes are growing dimmer—
Is it tears, or age, or spray?
But I will stay till you come home.
Strange ships come in across the foam!
But it’s weary, weary waiting, love.