MUSED Literary Magazine.
Poetry

Petrichor

Bartholomew Barker

I welcome the rain
after an eight month drought,
greet the electricity
in the air with open arms.

The scent of petrichor
fills me as the first drops
touch the dusty ground,
invigorating memories.

IŽd forgotten the taste of water,
grown accustomed to this thirst.
Imagine my delight in the downpour,
feeling life return vibrant

and strong but all too brief
like the crimson desert flowers.