Some say love, some fucking. I say desert
rain, I say saguaro, I say mesquite.
All those pent-up scents under our pervert
moon, the moon’s spawn full of heat, like my heat,
once trapped, frustrated, now rising. Fever
dreams that only rain can release. So fuck,
it is love after all when your lover
turns your dirt to mud. When all that we suck
and lick blooms, when the words for need and lust
become orphic, the air filled with balsam
and pine, filled with mesquite and saguaro.
Sanctify this fucking love, we who must
go for so long without a drop, we’ll cum,
cloudburst, a flash flood in an arroyo.