He remembers hearing, perhaps in a dream because he not remember where, that drowning is peaceful. That at some point the body and mind stop thrashing and accept the water as it rushes over and through them. Its a thing he remembers as he leaves his birthplace of wet and green. And thinks of it when he swallows and his throat is dry on this new home-world. Sometimes he craves that rush of water out of thirst. Other times he craves that sense of peace, the acceptance of not being able to fight any longer.
But usually he thinks of it when he's lying next to her, or against her or with her. Her eyes, are not unlike the sea or the skies of his birthplace. What color would her eyes have been without the spice? He wonders. But decides: The blue suits her anyway. And when his eyes also begin to change he think it suits them both. It feels like a revelation. This wanting to be consumed and consume. He would breathe her in, and let her surround him. He doubts there is any real peace to be found outside her mouth, her arms, her thighs, her heart, her soul.
He would drown in this desert spring if he could.