My larkspur longs for you! My rockfrog leaps into the cool of a pond! The only flowers on their backs are goldspeck lichens, (sagebrush scented) while a hawk (ferruginous in style & temperament) seals the deal. A rusted Solomon's seal, left by the sticks of lungworts melted over a high flame. My own sour greens grow wilted after a hot summer's look, yours, in particular. My own sparrow (chipping) in the early, early morning, before even the grub lichens have slid out from their dormant domiciles for a bite of fresh sorbet. In this heat, in this desert, my skin is yours; my own flesh melts off in jackets of toadskin lichens, only for your smoothe fingertips.
