54. nevada

leaves rattle across hot sand

like sticks still in the trees

tapping out wind.

dry grass kneels

pale gold against black rock

and silently

as if a secret passes.

.

i would taste your shoulder

brown and bare and smelling of fresh water.

one soft lick of our hope or fear.

i would kiss the touch palm of your hand

teeth clicking softly with anticipation

hair brushing your damp chest.

.

if you were here

i would be the wind

that gently shifts the leaves 

and bends the grass

for your pleasure.