Desertification

Did you have to run so fast,
on long legs
(what are you, an ostrich),
flee before I could
properly fall in love
with you?
I suppose any
sensible man would
do the very same...
still, you left me
with only
the tightly closed bud
of infatuation, struggling
to bloom within the dry
desert of my
mind; I have only the
memory of your face
to water it; can't let it die
for all that
I want to.