She's dancing in his eyes of misery,
Twirling around the floorboards,
Like a fruit ripening off a tree.
She's balanced in his gaze,
Hovering above the waves and pulses
Beating through the planks of wood
Built on this foundation of land.
He wants what he can't have,
And she is the reviving water
Stored underneath cactus pricks
That he can't drink.
His hand is not hers to hold
And her dress is not his to touch.
His misery will flourish,
The distance of strangers.