The Sounds of Laughter

Bronze dunes made stone
their burnished slivers
a cryptic legend
strangled in its own story of
encrypted heat and hunger

A tale to make hidden
like the crime of a lustful gaze
or a child’s wish on washed out ink
smeared on a sheet crumpled
by her guarding fist

every day will end
with my woman flesh
soiled
and cooked
beneath his scent
Cursed by the truth of touch
and the enigma of secrets unshared
and whispers unheard

every day will begin
with the words of a nightmare
familiar and still daunting
and yet easy to dismiss
and yet difficult to forget
crushed beneath the sands
intoxicated in their beauty
and the impossibility of their numbers

the landscape he inspires
bears no resemblance to this world
and thus the tattered thoughts
lurking through these moonstruck visions
trickling down
the way mud stains
ruin the painting
and give it its own life and story

We are the architects of rain
vanquished by the unsettling
drop of a pause
and once again bolstered
by the euphoria of a sweet embrace
and the sounds of laughter.