Bark

Desert canyons
the passing caravan of warm air caressing my eyes
Attempting to adjust itself in the asymmetry of my legs
While I scout the horizon for the kindred
And hark the hazy echoes of eternal soundscapes,
Which lie like lazy leviathans in the path of breeze’s sound.
They change course and veer toward silence’s cold sanctum
And have an intercourse with the vision
Of philosophers, poets and medical practitioners
And appear after rain in the form of a rainbow or, sometimes, aurora borealis.

Hot thoughts in warm desert sand.
I bury myself waist-deep and pray to the sun
And think about being immersed in lukewarm water in a white porcelain tub.

Watermelon juice oozes from the corner of your lips
Humid, silver liquid coursing between the breasts and accumulating in the navellake.
Yes, I am isolated now, yet one with the tranquil chants of deep canyons
Which cajole me in sweet somnolence
The body aching in pleasure, now lulled in pain
As hallucinogenic mist clears.