Dreaming of Hair

Dirty, disturbed and overused,
a withered washcloth searches every crevice,
wiping away the remains of the night before.
My mind ponders the possibilities of more moments,
as shots of water pulse my body.
Stepping out of the purifier,
Slippery limbs glisten in the afternoon air.
Sun's arms surround my body like cigar paper.
My spine quivers as water trickles down.
Not sure of what is to come,
but knowing how I want it to end.
I slide my towel down, exposing waist and and everything that surrounds
Only to pray for your body pressed against mine
Through a curtain of tendrils.

Why the Chosen Ones?

Because they were different,
With brown hair instead of blonde.
Faith in the invisible, they hoped for a better life
without armbands and ghettos.
Working all day just to scrounge up enough food for dinner.

Only to wait for the invasions,
shot off one by one
And then herded into places where only animals go,
with barred windows
Melting on trains for days with small splashes of water
to cool their sweat drenched bodies.
Reaching the barbed wire torture chambers
men and women separated.

How are they going to ever survive this hell?
With their worn out clothing, left in browns and reds,
sweat and blood combining to create bruises.
More bruises came as friends and family die,
faces so sunken in,
their eyes project out of their bodies
further than the rest of their faces.

Dark, dreary, the mist in the air froze
When the last repenting soul was gassed out