The Drought (revised)

The air grows empty in my cell of darkness and breathing isn't as easy as it used to be when you called once in awhile and I could still see your face behind the lids of my eyes; a time once sacred to me when I knew the sun would bear opening another day that held at least a little piece of you.

Yet like the fresh crisp air once surrounding my heart creating small clots of perfect emotion you have become but a tunnel of pale outlines on a dark surface fading so fast I'm clawing at the edges of my own sanity trying to hold on to the image of your perfect smile

And as the battle beats the life from me your image distorts and I start to lose the lines that once penciled in a feature that held my attention in ways that have haunted my dreams and before I realize what is happening the little scar on the inside of your thigh disappears into the contrast of the background and I forget that I once kissed that wound fresh.

I beg to remember how I drank you into me and the feeling that I could tear the small flesh wound and drain you completely just to feel you inside me. But all I can recall now is the painful, blistering, white tongue inflicted upon me by the drought of your presence

And as I lay here dying of thirst I begin to wonder;
Am I forgetting you?
Or are you stealing yourself back from me?