The Draught that ends the drought.

Shawn my dear friend, you honor me so much.

Taxicab of thought

The draught after the drought.  For my yogaliscious cheerleader (yeah I made that word up and im proud of it)
 
Being alone is like being out of touch
with your own tenderness.  You drag
 it behind you through the desert
sand.  It weighs you down at first, but 
as the arid air begins to desiccate the
parts of you the others have loved you
come to terms and make friends with
the shriveled cocoon of your romance. 
Some nights as you sleep you might 
think to reach out and see if you still
are capable of feeling loved/wanted/
needed/desired/cherished, but as soon
as you grasp at it, everything turns to 
dust like the remnants of a fall leaf that 
you dragged into the house, squashed
under the sole of your shoe.  Love exists
in the Mojave of your heart, a very vivid
and tempting mirage.
 
A near life…

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