Soon, we will go to the desert,
that orange desert
and stand on those crimson dunes,
melt into the cherry rust sand –
surrounded by burnt dust and scorching gold sun

Sand and bone, our bones –
unbroken and elemental
fusing into the soft curves and
clean shape of the chili red quicksilver below

We will drink whiskey from the canteen
and dance the Polonaise from memory,
make primal screams of rapture,
and of bliss

When we get there it
will be worth everything
to have survived –
it will all boil down to this

– just this moment.