He says
nothing.
It's the black fire
of his eyes, the
desert less hot
than his heat.
Of course there
is a haven he's
the sheik of but
in the daze of
how he holds your
body-- it's only
his pelvis against
yours, your knees
kissing each
other. Drums in
your blood
throb. The
electricity could
light up Mars.
Tho it's the
desert, your silk
bikinis are wet.
Like the flaps of a
door your labia open
