When the Deserts Flood

There is a desert between our lips
that cannot be satiated by all the mirages of water,
but only by a kiss.

The moist
that turns
all these molten rocks
to the melting sugar lumps
in the hot tea of a cool summer eve,

the bristly cactus of the desert
to the bed of rose petals,
the thorny summer of desert winds,
to an oasis of silky breeze.

and all the burning thirsts
to satiation.