I am parched for time.

My skin is brittle,
                        yellow.
It dreams of cool minutes,
baths brimming with hours.

But the days spin past like the sun.
Nails         Skin contracts.
       crack.
Lips like the Sahara,
split. I grow dizzy
                        as I watch the
                          weeks spiral
                            down the
                               sink.
Leaving me in a drought,
yellow, sickly with thirst.

I long for an oasis. To drink months,
to feel them settling in my belly,
shifting gently. I won’t ask for years-
only minutes, dripping off the tip
of my nose.
To lick a second from my lip,
to fill a glass with you.