Desert Night: A Love Poem

The The has died.

Someone slip it inside
its coffin.

Someone scoop its
gentle ashes into the air like snow.

The The
stands up

and pretends it is a
cactus.

Saguaro.

Its head is beside the moon
it is so tall,

its arms
out.

It mimes the
cactus as it downs its own fire

like a shadow,

and at the funeral
that fire lights you up.

Your legs are white
as apple flesh.

You’ll find me in the shape
of The The,

a shadow dark as a silhouetted hand,
stung as deep as the purple

flower,
our heads have gotten heavy.

Let’s go to sleep like this,
nude, cold,

blank and sluggish as cotton that has been
torn off and floats away.

We push one another across
the white rock,

rest together,
sing together, find
water together,

swim how
it
stays in its pool
together,

how it knows the song
of merging
waited
in the desert.

Your words are my words.
We speak them from the same mouth,
our languages move simultaneously

and so does The The,
the,
where is our
The?