It’s always darkest before the dawn. And within the wilderness of the desert, in the twilight of morning, the idea of you lights up my dreams.

You are the sun - you do not move. I am the earth, who dances within the shadows of your flame, and drinks your light.

You are in the wind, the lightest caresses of unseen touch sending a shiver across the cool condensation of morning. Vibroneous and fluttering, the magnetic pull of fresh dew from deep inside the earth, glistening and wet from atmospheric anticipation.

The peachy sand colored mounds part, revealing the crimson pink desert flower, wet with hot dew on the trunk of a smooth, fibrous succulent. The glistening bud sweetly tart in its watery undertones, your zephyrous gale greedy for the soft and sticky flesh of the cactus fruit.

I dream of love as time ticks in my hands, pulsing its growing heat in increased urgency.

Praise for the sweetness of the new day. The fire of your love burns as you part the stems of my southern lips. Your blade sears the velvety smooth flesh with a scorching flame, sucked in deep by pulsating, firm and tightly hollowed ground, hungry for sunlight, thirsty for rain.

Rays of light fill the sweetness of the wet garden, sunlit from heaven in a sudden crash of morning starlight which pierces the fertile, open, dewy valley.

The brilliant illumination of sunrise bursts forth in an emerald green flash - a rich eruption of our love dispersed through mere moments of rotating, ticking pulsations of a secret promise.

Until the life giving seed of your light spills over the horizon and floods the canyon with a prismatic shine, creating gardens in the desert sands.

Morning has broken, and I have escaped the weight of this darkness.