Lost in a desert where affection is the water I can't decide if its's been months, or maybe longer, Since I laid my eyes upon you, Or the mirage I perceived you to be. As if you were a cactus who's affection is guarded, by skin too sharp, and thick to bleed. Sitting in this plateau surrounded by drier things, dead plants and dusty bones. A solivagant traveler is what I'll be.