Lightening flickers between us.
The sky gasps and opens,
then the floods come
lapping upwards.
Do you remember
the torrent, my love,
when we surrendered to the wet?

That ****** of seed
was lust for life.
But then the world whirled
so quickly and
the dry came back.
The earth cracked between us
when we parted,
and the wet withered away.

So, while the sun still burns,
I stand this poem, *****,
against the sifting sands,
an obelisk for the wind to lick,
that I may remember later
the sustenance and succulence
of our season.

My heart and tongue quiver
when I talk again of
the wet.