Like a caravan my memories traverse Over dunes of my mind’s thinker And shakers of sand. On an escalator to the ascending moon With footprints in Arizona, Shooting a Tequila. As the Sonoran sun falls And the Red Centaury sleeps, As we kiss neath a zephyr’s touch And the hackles of the saguaro. From the edges of the auberge noire, The night’s sands slip away, Leaving

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