Some wells just don’t dry

when the wind came he let it blow his shirt, like a balloon.

He was listening to something that sounded like a poorly dried

leather skin drum. 

The wind was carrying sounds of beats from a poorly dried animal skin drum.

and then he saw it.

a silhouette of human trying to rise from the ground.

he helped the creature to its feet, it staggered onwards.

No word.

he rested in the trance.

listened to the song of the wind.

listened to the beats of the drum.

even heard the thud of the creature, falling again.

before Shiro tapped him on the chin, let’s go home,hunnie

Shiro was rather quiet, even for her quiet standards

she cooked white ugali and peppered eggs.

they ate silently. 

     before he broke the news of his fight

with his Indian boss, Shiro told him that she had just

left job after her supervisor insisted on southern rewards.

would you marry me, they asked each other, like a song.

the power meter read 0.8 and it made a very disturbing melody.

in the death of the night they sat on the bed. the Hunters choice

     brandy tasted like sugarwater in their lips.

Some wells just don’t dry.