Fathoming Selfishness

Once, a long time ago, he was broken.
Verbal sticks and stones,
They broke his soul.

His scars split to his skin
Like the crackled Earth calling
For the rain.
Not a drop came.

Drought
wrought
-almost to rot

And then he saw her

She came breezing by...
And her sultry sweat rubbed off on him.
As she pranced through the dusty streets,
She left colour in her wake

He ran.
He bought himself a crimson shirt.
He sprayed himself with eau de regret
And offered himself to Ephemeral Effervescence.

She obliged.
Today, some thirty years hence,
Ephemeral has settled down
And opened a cafe – for one.

He now sports shirts of different colours.
Always bright when he goes outside.
But that parched soul has lifted slowly with the wind
Granule by granule
And today, he is just a red case,
With a red neck
And no-body to speak of.