Like a table spread in the desert,

a sheet of sand, shifting,

alive with irridesence,

moving grain against grain,

rubbed smooth by one another;

like a table spread in the desert –

an oasis for a parched mouth,

ripe figs brush the tongue –

intoxicating,

unexpected sweetness.

My love spreads a table in the desert;

she soothes my skin with fine sand;

he slakes my hunger with the fruit of the grain

and feeds me red wine.

My cup runneth over.