A month of dryness. Yet my love's sweet pain
continued as sand blew where verse had been
dead leaves grow skeletal. White bone is seen
through mummied flesh, then tapping sheeting rain
and sudden green, lush flowers red and pink
as lust fulfilled, though not. This will not last
desire's a desert and returns quite fast
to desolation. Look and yearn then blink
it will be gone. You know it will return
in mirage moments. I will not forget
to take these pleasures any chance I get
transmute them. It's for poetry I yearn
More than for kisses. One peck on my cheek
enough to give me sonnets for a week.
