Thirst

I am parched for living ~

each second, a drop I would drink dry

if only I could hold it on my tongue

long enough to taste its soul.

I crave the heat of the sun 

as it bleeds itself into the sea,

the riot of color that screams

you are here, you are breathing.

I want the wind to tear through me,

to strip away the dull and the tame,

leave me raw and trembling

beneath the pulse of what's real.

The moon hangs like a promise,

and I share it with the ones I love ~

that pale ache reminding me

we are bound by the same light,

the same hunger to feel.

There are places I have not touched,

skies I have not inhaled,

and still my veins drum their demand ~ more.

More of the world,

more of the wild ache of being.

My thirst cuts clean to the bone ~

a fierce, holy wanting

that will not let me rest 

so long as life keeps unfolding

its terrible, tender beauty before me.