Stuff Of Monet

Was it the swelter of a noon day pampas
heat or samba riddle patois in your voice
which churned out palpitating spicy
Latin heart pulse?
Passion fruit entanglement a  timpani swing sign.
Sunlit blister rhythm stick to rabid lovebird dervish.
Eros wingspan carrier alight.
Torrid pidgin English or some other
fire bake smoulder on a red hot chilli tongue.
Nuestro amor eterno.
Felt pen stanza archer but some pallid  bypass,
optical illusion eardrum bound.
Ice cube molten vapour trail elopers spin
intimate cascades that  weave a  sultry
trickle down dry patch feldspar cochleas.
Gilt edge surreal conduit for a sand blown whisper.
Stream of barren desert  warm-front sigh beyond abeyance.
We rub noses so brazenly to taunt a livid furnace.
Your rose-scent perfume mingling with dust.
Shrouds of golden grain
infuse our  each and every overture.
Swarm of eye gnat fly strike-break
to our tantalising  ironclad union
Seconds....moments ...hours.
Eternity  in passing.
Caterpillar crawl.
Perspiration paints that global  canvas
where purple passage sinks its quaint resplendence.
Stuff  of Monet's visionary something.
Cactus juice bead ridge on wet flesh phenocryst.
Scorched earth cauldron offspring shed intaglio.
Barefoot bongos echo over arid mosaic.

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