It wasn't only the thirst
Rasp
parched arid tongues
lick a sweeping vista
to taste
baked clay
Walk for miles
a crooked branch clutched
in sweating palm
The sun boiling softly
supine on the horizon
a spinning blaze
of accusation
You brought Evian
in plastic
and latent prints
for Grissom to find
when our bones had bleached to
Autumn
No breath
to release rage
we argue
in heated whispers
Ungentle kisses
of torn aspect
leave impressions on the clay
Faces
embossed for eternity
to be found
a thousand centuries hence
Offering the serenity
of cautious demise
to be discussed
dissected
our bones
mingled and mixed
coupling finally
completely
for it wasn't only
the thirst.
2 comments:
this is a good poem, but the title totally threw me off the read. If I read it without the title it works much better for me.
I kept looking for some way to fit CSI into the poem and failing utterly.
Maybe new title?
Grissom looking for latent prints?
CSI Los Vegas *grin*
But well yes, I can change the title , actually, it was more of a , I must put something in the header , rather than an actual title I spose lol
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