Hypertonic.

From corner to corner
Cover to cover to
Collecting the moisture in its hidden
Secret places
My roof is a catchment
My fan is the shower to my
Spring harvest
The ripe
The juice
The shriveled turgid
Too taught skin
If I am lucky
My flesh will make the finest vintage

Water me
Shower me
Be careful not to drown me out
My cells are rough
And dry
They cannot contain themselves

It is true
I concede
I lack the cellulose for this to be so
My membranous will is very
Delicate
The in-flow is beyond control
Immersion in the fluid is the
Only thing that I have left

Were I to breathe
There'd be but sand
I have no more moisture left in me
Inside out
Peel to core
I am the low-hanging desert fruit
I am the cactus shell

Except that there is no hidden store
I am simply empty