The drop of the last
morning dew sprinkled
the spines of the cactus,
the moist caressed the flesh of
this sullen, sinful plant.

Thorns situated at the edge
of its leaf pinching the desire of whoever touches.
This unbeaten cactus never ever gave up for it knows how to survive- enduring the glaring
streaks of the sun living through its reserved liquid- squeezed
every moment to produce something for its existence.

A gypsy came along- cupping
a handful of water from an oasis. Sweat ran through his torn corduroy, bathe with the deceitful
rays from above as he gasped
sipping what was left like a
dog eating after a week's hunger. Miles were traveled, the
journey's undone so much has expected from this circumstance,
An unfilled bottle and an
ancient body bag clinged on his back, too heavy for his weight-
too large for his stature.
Never did I know this man- until I looked at the mirror reflecting a wrinkled persona, challenged by time, left by the decades.

The cactus lived within me as I live through my spirit, thorned, damaged, left alone- waiting for the dessert's next winter to come.