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desert
empires leave deserts
dry and dusty words from leather lips
puckered by moisture sucked air
chapped and wrapped in heat-crisped paper

their dessicant breath a shimmer laid lightly
on baked stone edged by a too-bright sky
held, waiting for cool dusk drawn in soft pastel
for stars, fixed as glitter caught on velvet

sanguine sands shift in wandering winds
skip across their cousins, pressure-packed into fantastic form
eroded bone, all that is left of us
save for fragile words, slowly fading on sun-bleached sheets

© inkcloud