:::a field alone:::

i would drink the water, as it is.
unmoving and listless
a well forgotten
deep inside ground where not only rain has fallen
where lovers will not travel.

i would press my cheek
silent into the ground
and let the water in
through the corner of my mouth
past my lips, unacquainted

this water that they dread
and advert their stare
has called to me, and i have answered
it has led me to it and i wait
pure, unidentified.

the bitterness, they lied
is sweet.
the filth is honey drifting in nectar
i sing to the sun softly
i sink inside this damp Shangrila.

if i cannot drink
i will let it roll off of my tongue
across my cheek, it pales my blush
i hold the taste
the sun dries the salt to my eye.

 

:::amber.hart.sinclair:::