Deserts That Have Never Cried Poem by Mark Heathcote

Tears well-up, wet my pillow
Like tulip petals they fall
So I press dreams - flowers
In a book unread
Gigolo, what can answer?
My insecurity alarm bell feelings
When I gaze into
You’re wishing-well glazed eyes
And find a book of matches
Willing to set fire to our mattress
Love I want to commandeer
A navel port in your heart
And capture a lost treasure
That a corrupt banker holds
In a vault if you please—
We’ll open a late-night drive-in
Black and white cinema screen
And you’ll be a star!
And I’ll sit on the hood
Of your mustang car
Pretending my eyes aren’t
Black or purple
They’re deserts that have never cried
They’re deserts that have never cried
They’re deserts that have never cried.