we lay under the acacia tree, hiding from the midday sun. the shots from the M16s echo through the valley and thrust themselves up to the clouds. an orchestra of amatuer percussionists, firing notes off to an audience of paper silhouettes. the scent of the agave blooms overwhelm my senses as your eyes pierce my throat. the ants weave through the small hairs on my back, but I pay no mind. you've trapped my life in the gaze of your soul. and when the scent of evergreen finds its way to me, when a field of summer flowers surround, when a crowd overwhelms and your perfume is all that sounds. I know. I know you aren't there, but. it doesn't stop me from turning around.
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