A sonnet for love in the desert

Our love, it blooms in such a fiery hue,
Secluded on a vast and arid plain.
I know I'll never see its like again,
A color exquisite and warm and true.
I ask the waning sun: is it in vain
To hope for just a breath of healing rain,
When any respite still eludes my view?
My song shall touch the skies, implore them to
Afford to us new weather, to sustain
A fragile blossom in a dry domain.
Until my humble sonnet may imbue
The skies with kindness, let my tears renew
That bed from which our budding beauty springs,
Awaiting what our better weather brings.