Sonoran sunrise starts at noon,
Be it a myth, truth, or ruse.
A book, the beach, dip like the loon,
A walk, hand soft, shore stone smooth.
The year-tide pulls, lulls from a far,
Home, home where the chollas bloom.
Sunset "so long" but still "too soon,"
Comer, campfire, sea-shell spoon,
Howl hounds and bouillon tunes.
Under the dark of white dunes
She steals kisses like shooting stars
Full in heart, body, and soul, mi Luna, my Moon.
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