Parched

A water bottle
Sits
On the shelf
Where I may perish
Besides
My bedroom window
Shuttered tightly
During sleep

To denounce
What day may bring
Though rest which
Sees me tremble
With an open mouth
Still gasping
Begging liquids
From thin air

Denied
That arid breath
Since each terror
Leaves me longing
Between these sheets
Entangled
Like a bush
Of sweated death

But stirring
If I must
Long enough
For thirst to notice
How resistance
Seems indecent
Staring God
Right in the face

By His vessel
Left real close
While remaining
Ever fearful
So no hand
Or desperate fingers
Could seek respite
Out of reach

As that drink
Eludes my grasp
Amid dreams
I cannot finish
Waking often
From this penance
Feeling parched
Alone at night.

– J. Pigno

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