mirage

suddenly she appeares in the corner
of my eye, like a disruptive lash that
fights off a team of tears.  i am so thirsty...
she wears a sun dress with an incredibly supple style
that could only strengthen her resolve, and a drop of
lemon spritzer escapes a swallow, rolling down her chin
with admirable grace.  as it falls to her neck,
leaving its long, wet fingerprint to glisten,
i watch patiently.  it glides toward her breasts,
cooling her honey-dipped skin with every cascaded
lick of its movement, and my eyes seem to
push it on further.  if it could follow,
my tongue would revel where the drop ended-
then again, i could be hallucinating.
if i am,
then the band of rebels that approaches from the north
will kill themselves off
over the half empty bottle of lemon spritzer
that will soon await me
and the half naked gypsy, or the camels that snort at us.