Three-Word Mirage

You draw me,
Swell my tongue
With your approach
Like dewed petals
To this parched
Desert-wanderering dreamer.

Then you withdraw,
Or seem to,
As this thirst
Dilates the minutes
Between the tasting;
I lose sight
Of your glisten
In the hot
Bone dry sand.

Of this madness
This steadying thought
Is finally born:
These words need
Your coy retreat
To launch their
Violent campaign march

Out of this
Soft wet inkwell,
Beneath blazing fluorescence,
To grudgingly coalesce
Across paper deserts,
Through the mirage,
Seeking the truth
At its heart.

The worst part
Is knowing that
Despite my thirst
Until now I 

Could never really

Understand what parchment.