A man smiles,
lights a joint,
sits back to wait
and watch the tides change.
No dry humour.
A boy eyeballs me
till I break down
and offer him a piece
he will eat with his face.
Not a dry spot.
A sun burns my retina mercilessly
while the earth turns away
in red anger
from the shameless display of colour.
Not one dry eye in sight.
Not one dry cheek within reach.
Not one dry moment.
A fruit melts on my tongue
runs down my throat
to settle my stomachs' impatient roars
with a wet kiss.
Not a dry fuck.
An ocean offers me sand
with a soft touch,
a gentle whisper
and in generous measures.
Not one fucking dry moment.
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