Ashen grey, weathered wood
splintered, white bone
hollowed by the desert sun
skull and backbones
laid to rest, wind blown
sunk in sifting sands, exposed
by wet washing squalls
drinking water into steam
interwoven, dead with weeds
iridescent beetles and scorpions
glints of pyrite, diamond stones
the haunting wind, that moans
wild through hollows and holes.

This tea, I steep
red apple, your kiss
alizarin crimson, wet
impossibly sweet
you soothe, I drink
your lingering lips
poured with honey milk
by the fire, consumed
of love infused
with herbs and leaves
this tea, I drink.

We are of the ocean
salt water green, lime and seaweed
clinging and threaded, verily suspended
in the far off edges, ebbing unseen
steeped in luminous moons, impossibly colored
a darkness, plumbing ageless depths of sea
strung with opulent pearls, swallowed by fields of sand
a light discovered in the shoal shimmering lands.

Only a desert of blowing dust
a junk yard of weathered metal rust
the brutal blare of scorching sun
the cold of winter's raining snow
an ever changing, tricky season
a killing storm without reason
only a metaphor to explore
the hot and cold - of you
that I deplore.

First the soft biting
lips and all the rest
your hands, this landscape
a smooth curved road
of breath hot summer, the swelter
this endless sky, an ocean to discover
salt water of my lover

The air here is slow, it breathes like steam
a fog bank hovers, settles within
time does not tick ahead
I stare at minute hands
this room is silent snow
a cold colored blue
and drifts through broken windows
a fragmented dream
of you.