winds come howling through
their encampment
as the sun climbs rocky paths up the mountain
she river bed shifts beneath linens to press herself against the full length of his warmth
the amber of her eyes begins to accept shades of morning as she whispers,
“I need a cup of coffee, a shot of bourbon, and a bowl…”
the air surrounding them electrified by his smile
he replies,
“Damn, baby, do you need some fireworks and a gun to go with that?”
their laughter registering as a seismic event
on the computer screen of a weary scientist
upon waking in the desert