
pounding heartbeats, the torrid sun drying blue blood, which drips
as silently as Damascus sighs, my blood rides on the Crimson-winged Finch
in the Holy Lands, we sit in the shade of the immense fig tree,
meeting me here too long ago, a human turning inside out,
each time you touch my lines where a tan does not exist
life chases us, our bodies now inside out, like the fig so luscious
it hides its bright red flower inside its fruit, juice running down my lip
as I sample her ripeness giving birth to her flower deep inside
tenderly you lick the sweet juice from my chin
glazing over is my eyes as the wind blows sand in them
blinding me momentarily as Jesus did to Paul
merging with these lands, I lay upon her…
View original post 32 more words