JH (6 September,1962 / Sydney, Australia)

Consider

Pawing at a sunburnt heart,
Dry, dusty
Scratching, pawing.
My withered, cold heart
Moistened only by a few drops
Drops of wine
Poured softly
Cool water falling from the petals
Of a lily of the field.
My smile releases a tear,
Chaped lips burn and crack
My cheeks are a platform
For the journey.
I taste the salt,
Lick my lips,
Swallow like sugar,
Breathe the purfume.
Green leaves wrap the stem,
A white flower
beyond withering.
Repetitious nothingness
on and on.
Each day on its own
Is nothing without
That dropp of loving moisture.
And yet it seems like nothing
on and on.

(24 April 1985)

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Rudyard Kipling

If

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