Friday, January 8

Desert Rose



Pale crimson skies
Stretched beyond repair.
Clouds as scarce as life
Above the desert’s lair.

Upon the sarcous traces
Of the dusty morsels,
Rain from a wispy heart
Like drunken yokels.

From the parched sands,
Palatable scents diffuse.
It approaches, it taunts
The flesh cannot refuse.
-

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Letter to RAD - Take 3

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