When the words

When the words

I need to hear

are not dripping

out of your lips,

I’m left wondering

if I deserve the

salvia of passion.



I remember the

cactus on the

windowsill, draped

over its pot

as if ready to


And prickly pokers

that always

scared me.

But as I think

about it now,

I miss it.

I miss the cactus

and its

monstrous beauty.