Your voice crackles like red logs in a camp singes the tiny hairs in my ears burns in my numbered parts eddies over the big stones rolls pebbles left and right as if looking for a place to lodge and rest, away from the pounding environment.
Your long and insistently unruly hair tickles the tiny places inside that never thought of being tickled never figured to be touched by your hidden wildness the disguised untamedness stirs my groggy languid waters your wild, full flushed heart pounds rhythm into my flat languid and resistant plains.
I am a sandy arid desert dotted with cacti and pigweed thirsting for the fluid you excite with ease and draw up from my depths.
Songs erupting from the well of your faith come forth from your sober mouth and waft over our sallow selves over our normality and our implacable comfort.
Your vocal chords echo Leonard Cohen a pursuer who never found the object of his quest but you do not deify the journey like so many traveling troubadours. You rest assured of your place up yonder the place safe and secure in green planet that is you.