He loves, he says,
out of desperation
for her
runs like sand
through his fingers:
His body fails,
but his mind flares on –
& his heart, alas,
that still quickens
for her
who has become one
with the dunes.

She loves, she says,
out of body’s desire
to squeeze off all the juices
of green, green time
with her dirty young men
before the brutal sun
burns into her face
that will darken & shrivel
like a prune –
O but she won’t ever, ever
embrace him
who stays in his asylum
& bays at the moon.

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