Her Desert Samba

She is of electricity,
a static snap
lighting flashes of silver sparks
a heat wave, a summer tempest
a monsoon in a tea cup
with pretty flower lines,
that weave around a rim
slightly chipped, and razor sharp.
She is brown and gossamer
fluttering and flowing
the wayward thread that seals the seam
torn and coming loose
She is something silent
observing and consuming
a flash fire in the desert
melting sand to glass,
and blanketing the land
in molten lucent passion
She's a girl left wandering
Singing- low and smooth
dancing to the beats of samba
unaware of who she is
and what she has become

No comments: