Little Drink

I am wasting;

Skin a dry cover of my suffering.

I need you mortally.

I need you near to me.

Pale of life,

Lingering here with hope.

Your throat gleams.

I see life pulse

And it drives me slowly mad.

My angel, my savior.

Foolishly unafraid and trusting.

I am ashamed.

I need you terribly;

Your kind feeds me,

Kindles the quickening I desperately need.

Angel of death, I could be.

Withholding the final draught

So difficult, incomplete.

Your throat gleams

With vulnerability.

I promise…

I won’t drink too deeply.

Copyright 2010 Kimberly Hillard

9/25/10