I'll let it permeate my parched skin.
Tear shapes hitting my scalp,
running down my forehead and my cheeks.
Sliding down my neck, past my collar bone; down my shirt.
Down
          down
                                                down.
Finally, down feels right instead of wrong.
"What's up?"
"Wishing for Something Good."
Can I taste the wetness?
Dropafterdrop [count: thirtyone] I'll let hit my tongue.
Sizzling and hissing upon contact with my desertdry body until I am drenched [and cooled off]..
Dayafterday [count: thirtyone] I've waited for Something Good.
THIS is Something Good.