In the desert, dreaming gardens

[busker]

In the desert, dreaming gardens

I am one with my beloved.
My true friend. My heart’s candled
tower in the night.
Morning, a delusion, 
a fantasy, the fantastic stupidity
of addled minds
gone to seed.

But I bleed
in secret for my 
beloved. King
of the flowers, is he not?
Spring is in his hair and oh to love him
the world is small.
The sky is not quite wide enough 
to fill up his meady mouth.
And what is idle prattle is to me

the song of life.