The Water in the Sun

All the cacti died and there wasn’t even weed to roam.
The sand was glowing from the heat of the sun capturing it inside themselves and
he dragged his black faux boots across the dunes to reach her knees
dressed in navy blue. He followed her thighs, slender and long as if a flower
finally knew how to become a tree. She was four to five times his height
and he took off his hat as she leaned over, looking out or up but not at him.
He placed a silver quarter on her dripping pink tongue, lanky and stretched
open to him. His fingernails felt later, bad water
she wrapped around it, squeezing tight, drooling blood
over her pearl-pointed chin.  He wondered, but never waited before
he watched the coin melt on her tongue. Then quickly evaporated.
The sun lowered between the brown peaks behind her as she
arched her head back, letting slow whisper-moans out to the coming moon
she threw one long arm stretched over her head, her fingertips subtly pointed
to the stars whom she may or may not have named herself.
She prayed to feel this way a little longer, before night came.
She prayed for more saliva to waste.

Artwork by Daria Hlazksdlaj

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