Drying bones, thirsty, in the sun,
Drenched in rain and my always-special midnight's fun
Dark lines, tapered, reckless, dots in the sand
Drawn by limbs, fingers, blood and hands

Good old Interment's rite,
A play of will you, won't you kind of night
Watchful eyes stitched by lips
By skin, by bones, and my every
maybe-could-be
might be love's kiss

Dried bones smiling in the sun,
Waving tiny hands to snakes,
stray scarabs, blobs,
blue frogs, shadow dogs
and every grain of sand
that blows over dessert dreams

Existing, living,
Dreaming of desert dreams
Living,
In desert dreams

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Ero, in the year 966 AF.