Clay Heart

Water down a parched throat 
     splashes
The cool taste 
     lingers
The cracked lips 
     do not sting -
It is not water, 
     it is sand
The mirage of 
     thirst
The quest for the clay grail 
     to 
Hold water.

It did not come here 
    thirsty
It did not come here
    filled
It did not come here
    empty
It did not come here
    dusty.

And sand down a parched throat
    grates
The gritty feel
    scars
The cracked lips
    Do not sting
It is not love,
     but substitute
The mirage of 
     love
The quest for the clay heart
     to
Hold water.