Arid

When the air extracts the moisture
From my sinuses
From my mouth
From my lungs

When my eyes burn
From dryness
As much as the heat
And the brightness of the sun

When only the scent of dust
Settles on my nose
My skin crackles and flakes
Even buried under layers of cloth

I run my tongue over parchment lips
Saliva burns in the cracks
Evaporating
Drying the dying flesh further

How I love this
The quiet, deadly breeze
Asking me “Are you alive?”
Seeking my water

“Yes,” I reply
“Never have I felt so alive.”
That is the only reply
When Death comes calling