I came to the desert to love you.




I came to the desert to love you.

There were flies on the windowsills

and all the flowers were blooming.

I hadn’t been alone for weeks

and I was tired.


We fought about everything

but I loved you anyway.

My friends worried.

My hair grew a shade lighter

and the sun-drenched roses of my cheeks

faded to bronze.

My eyes became two crescent moons,



My lover smelled of burnt popcorn

as she pressed her small body to mine.

Her mouth and hands were hungry,

hurried, and searching.

I did not have what she wanted —

I don’t remember what it was




I am alone

for the first time in weeks —

laying naked in the whisper of desert breeze

with only the dogs for company

I am at peace, I think.

My belly feels full, my arms heavy.


At least my words have returned to me,

my mind clearing as the desert air

touches every part of me.

The lead wears on the pencil

with which I write.


A pencil is a good tool for me —

seldom used, it suggests leniency

and forgiveness, a lack of inhibition.

Things which I see now

that I am lacking,



I am in heaven here


with the dogs

who snap at the flies and arrange themselves,

bored and graceful, in the center

of carefully woven and weathered rugs

The sun is high.  I will wash myself, then set out

to do my work.  And my heart is grateful,


for I came to the desert to love you.

And I do, I really do.


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