Morning.
\nMoist kiss.
\nHumidity.
\nSultry bouquet.
\nI could not live in the desert!
\nWalk among the spines of desecrated needles.
\nSit on rocks with scorpion tenants.
\nI once did guard duty at a crossroads,
\nand keeping lookout for the officer
\nof the guard, sat down on a stone.
\nA dry, desolate day in Arkansas.
\nThen it occurred to me
\nto check my rear guard.
\nTipping the stone, there was a scorpion
\nas miserable as me.<\/p>\n
Now in winter I live in a house too dry.
\nThe temperature semblance of spring
\nand summer missing,
\nI put a pot of water on the stove.
\nBrought it to a boil and in moments,
\nmy eyes lidded.
\nI was at the shore
\nwith the vast reach of the ocean
\ntaking hold of its son.
\nSummer returned with breath
\nmoist as rain.
\nHumidity!
\nI was on a river banked by green,
\nwood and pasture.
\nA man of humidity!
\nHeart soft as a blueberry. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Morning. Moist kiss. Humidity. Sultry bouquet. I could not live in the desert! Walk among the spines of desecrated needles. Sit on rocks with scorpion…<\/p>\n