Teasing the Paperclip

This stiff oasis.
Turning us sober.

While we try
to reach,

Something not
ours. Soft victims
In red cocoons.

That refuse to
change us.

No deserts strong
enough, to prove this
thirst.

Turn these stems
to leaves.

Put to bed
those rabid dreams.

I was counting.
The minutes.

I was waiting.

For permission
to live again.

Flirting with the
corner of the paper.

Cold attacks in
warm fingerprints.

More than proof enough.

Of anything I thought
I wanted.