Desert, Love

She spoke soft sonnet, thin and meagre wind

dancing on the tongue of a desert She reaches

green fronds This last masquerade 

Entranced by eyes descending the depths 

into the remnants of an echo of an Oasis 

Fragile desire perilously nourished 

by only the remembrance of a kiss

and cupped hand upon 

gone lover's face 

Sun scolding what is real - bleached

white, ephemeral And the morbid

songs of winged creatures 

waiting for magnificence to carcass 

so the splendour could just rot 

right here, and we could be 

the palm side spectre 

a secret on the golden Dunes

playfully spent in said winds

till the stacks of time stand silent