Hanging on the tree of temptation,
petrified fruits of love.
The prophecy sears on the parchment,
like the dry river carved in the parched Earth,
like its dust craving a drop's worth.
The world ain't over,
the showers never stayed.
As the ark rots,
scavengers tumble to the ground
wishing the pairings hadn't failed.
Sinking in the sunshine,
thinking of Clementine,
the mind sweats poison.
The diligent clouds are aloof.
In the inkblot nights
as scorching as the day,
Promises wait to be washed away.
An arid heart thirsts in a drought... Will a Monsoon come in June?
