My Cardboard Balcony

Drink Me by Belinda Roddie My vessel isn't glass, but if you squeeze the soft spots, I'll provide a nectar to sip that you'll never forget, even while you sleep. The crisp lactation of your lips is enough to get my eyes swirling, the brown and green mixing in a vibrant cocktail, salty and sugary, bitter and sour, all the buds blooming on my tongue suddenly bursting into full, excited blossoms. You know exactly how to make my grin grow, my shyness shrink, while everything in between just glows. Just let the light crackle on my skin. If you're lucky, you'll get a second helping of my special liquid sin.

They called them the Desolation Dunes, and the air grew tight and cold as the nomads drew closer to such trenches of sand and dust. They set up tent, boiled their last ration of dirty water, and watched the bare-faced sky break out in a swirl of stars. Desolation, for once, was filled with light.