I breathe you in,

cold and empty sheets.

Back to the desert I go,

not quite ready.

Ready to face mirages,

shapely dreams that come, go.

The memories of you,

daily I flavor them,

taste them,

sweeten or sour them.

Passionate I remember,

to fall limply in your absence.

You succulent whore...

Maybe if I hadn't fallen for you I could still be dreaming now of more;

But the sadism of my bohemian side--

And your faux-masochistic lack of pride--

Do keep me from abandoning your memory like it deserves...

Maybe I just don't have the nerve.

Anyhoo, adieu.