Blossoms of Saguaro

Before your hands
I were but state of substance,
thin cactus needles
carving the cellular core
that poured suffering
into the circulation of blood
(not yours)
and after the tenderness
in the blossoms on the top of Saguaro,
where I woke up
burning with fever,
swimming in sweat
and delirious
near the sun,
where you branded me
with sheer promises from one love,
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