Thirst

“After God, Shakespeare has created most”
(Alexandre Dumas)

You illicit dealer of words,
Conjuror of hallucinogens;
You who inspire the minds of inspirers.

I am your purple-lipped devourer:
No longer the dreamer
For now I am thirsty.

Perhaps

Pungent wood infuses the night-scent –
Fresh from the downpour.
Sinews of water, wrestling metal,
Condemned on the slippery bars.
Perhaps I love you more than you love me.
And the drops well up and fall.
The sky is weeping.
My words are the sponge.