a letter to the flower of the desert.

i want to kiss the tumbleweed

and tell it, i love you

because our bodies are forgotten.

only death remembers because death

is the only necessity. to open is to detach

from our neck and cry for water. there is

no tear in the sand. our tongues are mothers

in search of the child they have not birthed.

when teeth become our legs we do not walk.

we stand in the dunes as a flag on the moon.

a proud testament on a blank canvas not even

the ears of sand would listen to.

i want to kiss the tumbleweed

and tell it, i love you

because our lips are irredeemable from the hands

around our cheeks. the intercourse of heat and rot

and calloused earth has birthed our eyes. we are

the match without the spark. the candle in a tank.

they say we have potential when they look at us.

but look at us. we are as beautiful as the angels

of death. our wings are golden in the sun. silver

in the moon. we are glorified in our hollowness.

the rain would not drown us. they cannot hide

what we have hidden: our faces in the lines

of our veins. inside out. insidious and incense

in the identity of our bodies.

i kiss the tumbleweed

until all that remains

is our teeth.

it tell you

i love you

and kiss you

again.

---

First published in Circular Publishing.