The Stuff Of Monet

Was it the sweltering heat or samba in your voice which made my heart pulse with Latin rhythms ?
The rhythm of lovers entangled in passion.
A blistering sunlight hopelessly outmatched.
Carrier pigeon of Eros set alight.
Pidgin English or some other smouldering tongue.
Nuestro amor eterno.
Ear, receptacle of sweet verse with liquid ice as medium.
Cascades of intimacy trickling down the cochlea.
Nerve ending as conduit for a sand blown whisper.
Stream of rippling sighs.
We rub noses brazenly in a tropical furnace.
Your rose-scented perfume mingling with ashen dust.
A haze descends upon our  each and every overture.
Blow fly as strikebreaker to this desert union.
Jealous I wonder ?
Seconds....moments ...hours.
An eternity in passing.
Caterpillar crawl.
Perspiration paints that global  canvas called the face.
The Stuff of Monet.
Clogged pores in a ragged fleshy outcrop.
Scorched earth soul mates cauldron bound.
Romantic hearths inflamed by an arid mosaic.

NB
Nuestro amor eterno
means our everlasting love in Spanish.
Monet was a french impressionist painter