Enchantment

 Arms raised in the desert,

Succulent saguaro standing alone,

Purple martin, ground squirrel

And dry scrub, your only companions.

It must be your meaty center

Pulsing with green living juice

That draws me on my hands

And knees, longing for your lusciousness.

Why else would I touch your spines?

Brush my cheek against your trunk,

Red rivulets running down my face

While I plead for you to yield?

Solitary cactus,

Indifferent to my thirst and blood,

Incapable of knowing anything

About this woman and her body.

How you bleed me, 

Your barbs lodged deep inside

-- The spines will not come out

Despite my tender (sometimes frantic) ministrations.

I have barred my door

To keep me from my nocturnal journeys,

But I am tenacious and sickly thrilled

By your ancient silence,

Your flowers that bloom in the night.

You may stand a hundred years,

Or I might come wild eyed with my machete

To finish the story, unleashing my inner Kali.

Let the sun bleach our bones on the barren terrain.

 by Tara Crowley

inspired by, what else? Tortured Love.