the rooster moans and the cleaning lady is left with ashes

The road stretches out onto an endless desert horizon that tugs me along, lassoos me into its unknown. I crossed the border into Mexico just over an hour ago. The windows in my car are wound down but offer me little relief from the dusty heat. My mouth resembles the dry, barren landscape you are standing in when I pull up next to you. You’re thin, like a shadow dried up in this here desolation. Your boot treads on your cigarette butt as you move towards me. My legs shift on the leather seat, unsticking themselves and I can feel your fire from here.
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We drink tequila from dirty glasses and lower them back on to a wet bar. The man behind it smirks at us and refills them. He has bad body odor and a dog he doesn’t treat well. Your hair hangs in greasy strands over your eyes and drives me crazy. My fingers itch to wipe it out of your face, then find a place to tangle themselves in it. I picture myself as a cat licking it back behind your ears until my tongue is raw and seeking your lips for healing. You sit close, pinning your eyes on me and you rarely blink. It’s making me giddy, slightly dizzy, tipsy even. But it could be just the heat. Every word we speak carries this intangible weight, that leaves me feeling exhausted as if I were learning my language entirely anew. It’s dark and there is no cool breeze. We wet our gums some more and perspire small translucent beads that drip drop off our cheeks as we shake when we laugh the way we do.
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You take me without pardon, I lay in your reins and when we slow down I read the history in your scars. The room seems caught in explosion with a staggering heat that drips off us, soaks the sheets and clouds the air. I want to drink you in. You drink from me, I can feel us drowning.
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In the morning you shave with my blunt razor and hotel soap in the shower.
You say the water is scorching you while my heart is burning, a fistful of love to the stomach.
We are moths.
The flames slave.

And we both go up in them.