this is not about water

it was like a sink that was overflowing, built up and up and up.

then it was drained; the pipes rusted over; the slight drip and drip and drip.

tantalizing.

then the water rushed like geysers do, hot and momentarily solid.

then gone and the rusted pipes groaning from overuse.

water-like kisses that dripped off the sink of my skin and the eyes that melt when i open my eyes sustained me for only a minute.

the pipes are too rusty but water forces its way through to assault the flesh and give life again.

it takes itself away too quick; let's the drinker, the sink, revel in it, settle in it, and then; gone.

the water has no mercy for those still in the dessert, even if it was a forest once.

rusty pipes hold no water but the water rusted the pipes first.

dessert sand bows to water but all water wants is you to bow to it.

you can't decide, neither can i, if dehydration is better than this.