Desert dream

A descending cactus arm kisses the sand.
With more spines than a porcupine.
The fat bulge of a goldman´s sack in hand.
And the unholy wrinkle of a spiders grin.
 
Grey dying plants thereby envy so severly,
now empty shells almost root dead.
While the green in the cactus
Is the irony in the desert.
 
Even the rocks are jealous
as the towering thick stems form columns
which all appears as some grand prickly palace.
Cloudless skies congratulate the cactus
for even as rain ignores this part of the world,
life continues in dry slowmotion style.
 
Reptiles congregate the heat hardly warms their blood.
They clean their eyes with their tongues and skuttle by dusk.
Cactuses close their flowers and dream of arid delights.
Like hot spitting hornets and scorpions fussing.