The Girl in the Desert

I saw her, in the driest of deserts, hair wild
as a flame in the wind.

She stood atop the dune, a queen, staring
at the smiling sun that sank quietly.

I did not see her face; she had her back to me.
But her bare shoulders were enticing enough.

Her silky, blood red trousers wriggled in the breeze,
her feet gulped by the sand,

so that she looked like a lonesome plant,
forever distant from anything.

As the sun drew the painting of dusk onto
the sky's orange, she turned.

She could see me see her; I did not know whether
to approach or to fear her.

What I did know, though, was that her face possessed
a glimmer of magic that spun me into a web of lust.

Brows, brushed thinly like the sky brushed its clouds,
and emerald eyes that entered me.

A nose that belonged to the Sphinx of the Desert;
I would have tortured to touch it.

Ears just large enough to be called so, or maybe
it was her hair that covered them so petite.

And lips; lips as luscious as whipped cream,
delicately soft and perfectly moist.

She pierced me with her gaze, but little did I know
that in a moment, I stood just two inches

away from her, my own nose stroking hers. She really
was a seducing sorceress.

And before we knew it, the Sun kissed the Earth with
uncontrollable passion. And the Earth licked back.

I slipped into the night with her like my feet
slipped deeper into the sand;

slow, fluid, and with a shimmer of the unknown.