The desert called softly with hoarse tongue.
Dried lips nibbled up my silky legs.
Pushing me on the back of the wind.
Carried and placed in the middle of spartan land
Only your eyes were watching.
Tainted with poison, the pen bleeds.
It splatters onto my freshly polished feet.
Stains refuse to wash away.
Sand pulls and tugs to no avail.
Macbeth's hands know the scar or is it now me?
It is our connection your chains
They cut into my neck.
Screeched across the crowded space your voice lingers.
It holds on.
Clawing, and scraping against bone.
You aren't there, not where I can hold you.
Just a hand.
Is it too much?
Tell me...whisper it in my ear.
Say it, I feel it through typed words.
I want to see it fall freely from your dry lips.
Give it to me, please.