Moisture within me,
Dries up in this heat.
Hardening the oft softened skin,
Corrugating the surface
Much like dried up berries;
Sweet before, when plump with vigor,
Tangy to the taste, wrinkled, when dry.
It's exhausting, this lack of flow.
Strange how rising temperatures around me,
Harden me from within.
I must have been in flow then,
For only water can die in the heat,
And only water can kill it.
Without this, I'm just a dense mass,
My pieces lose their edge,
Rubbing against one another.
What was once well defined,
Through this friction,
Turns into a perfect circle.
One just like another,
Oh! The unnerving perfection of oneness.
Bereft of water within,
I seek to pour some on me.
Ah! The temporary pleasure.
Heaven returns to the earth,
As I close my eyes,
Succumbing to the short reverie
Of this un-warm present.
But water, without, has no form.
And what has no form can not last.
And so the water glides off,
Taking with it, the mirage of pleasure.
But, I'm beyond reality now,
For in my abstraction, water overflows.
Maybe I should have devoured it,
For it to reach my depths,
Soothe the unbecoming smoothness within.
But, caught in suddenness of the interlude,
I turned a life force into a shield,
Engaged in the battle without,
Pretermitting the war within.
No shield protects forever.
And this one perished too.
Now I'm a perfect circle in a dwam.
Destined, to forever remain warm.
Water Tried, but couldn't persist on my skin. For without form, it could only fall away.