I could feel the moist gathering
Yielding into the uneven folds and valleys
Micro rivulets, merging to flow
Into a single large dropp of sweat
That trickled from my brow
Teetering precariously
At the tip of my nose
Before yielding to the inevitable force
Of gravity that sucked into
Hot dust, the salt and water of my being.
Evaporating in the blink of an eye,
Licked by the merciless heat.
Anita Atina
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-trickle/
