How dry is a building?
The one we all sit and sleep inside.

Does dew fall from the roof
like the backwash of a mountain ridge,
and where is all the moisture?
It's certainly not in this house.

Our bodies starve,
saran-wrapped and protected
from what?
Our showers are spitting dirt
and the dogs mouth is a circus.

The grit on my teeth kept building
and now I can't close my mouth.
We squeeze our skin for some wetness
but nothing is produced from the cracks.

Then one day I looked at her.
My partner. My woman. My life.
Our distance grew shorter as she
dashed across the room.
Embracing her in my arms
for what seemed like the first time again.
And there was a spark
in our apartment.
An electric fire of sorts.

The ceiling began to flood and the walls
were waterfalls for the moment.
Through our passion we began to drown
but it was brief.
When the water hit our bodies
we had already been perspiring for what seemed like hours.

And when it was through and
our love was renewed.
I went to the shower
and lifted the handle.

All the water came down
and our bodies were clean
for the moment.
The mud flew to the drain like
sugar to the heart and we sat
up all night waiting in our towels
for the dirt to come again.

06/08/2008

Posted on 06/09/2008
Copyright © 2024 Johnny Crimson