Parched skin shudders: crackling parchment,
split lips open: unformed words,
pressed fingers, pressed palms,
ache heavenwards—pray.
While yearning eyes implore,
tell of a sinner dying of thirst.
Oh come, oh Jesus. Come.
The split-open shoved-in loneliness
cuts into the soul and sucks,
sucks it clean of meat and marrow.
Dried out soul flesh means no more
blue-promise-sky. Means dehydration,
means desiccated heart.
Oh come, oh Jesus. Come.
Stretched out days of dryness
and empty eye search bring me
reeling. Dusty palms arched sky-ward,
I beg for an answer. Bone-dry.
Oh come, oh Jesus. Come.
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