It's a slow go; it's what the hell, why here? And oh Marie, you should see how I think of you now. The devil's out there - the devil, I think, on the mesa - slack-jawed, sick at heart, fevered and hurt, driven from Denver and Vegas. This demon's an exile, a jerk and a loser. This exile's the demon of love.
Marie of the tropics, adore me. Goddess of heat, I need air and the blessings of foliage and water, but why would you look for me here?
© Ragnar Kvaran 2003