The Desert

Liquid
Burns fragile
Flesh, she consoles her pain.
Smirnoff tells her every midnight,
"Go home."

Yet she
Always responds,
"Home is where you make it,
And in your arms I am at peace."
She breathes

Easy,
Knowing worries
will vanish into dust.
Children cry, abandoned in night -
She breathes

Relief.
Warm liquid soothes,
Clarity in a glass.
Weak, life bleak, she does sin - never
Is true.

She wears
Masks, hiding self
In polluted water,
Liquid vapors vanish with time,
Not life.

Water,
Life source, fresh, clear -
Washed away in a drought.
Dust upon lips, dust within veins,
Bitter.