soon,
this world will crack in half, become
but a wild rue seedpod roasting in the fire of the salt-grassed sun.
so,
we prepare.
we journey through the wilderness of our quiet rage,
a lonely desert, faint sage.
suck the mulled wine from our prayer rugs in the sand
until we are drunk with the beloved.
we harden.
we press the dunes on our cheeks into rose quartz
and wring the grief from our dehydrated flesh.
and we fall in love.
swell our lovelorn lips with aloe licks, thickly sticky stubbled,
stealing joyful cactus kisses in the shadow of Empire.