I see your petal-colored arm

above the latex gloves your wore,

breasts straining your lapel,

your eyes obedient to fear,

your savage cheeks and shoulders straight,

your strawberry hair.

I see the desert’s late-in-the-day pink light

we said we loved, ever changing light,

too close to other changes—

the provocations

of fame, of paradise, the amorous

rose on the lips of exile.