HER MIRAGE

HER MIRAGE

How her smile pulled the back the corners of sunrise
and her breath moved the clouds;
 
            the taste of her light and sweet
            her mouth refreshing as a cool fountain in summer
            her parted lips on mine, her green eyes giving back
            her trembling to my touch, genuine...but

She walks that desert in her soul
seeds under feet soft
searching for water.

With a voice that entranced, so melodic
winds slowed to look, slowed to listen
dune after dune, a walk of longing
until reaching an oasis to be
hesitant and weary of mirage.

"Your oasis understands."

A spring from which to drink
in which to cool and soak and think
that seeds might take flower
growing roots deep underground into 
joie de vivre...without pretense
a rose of pink crystal to be grown again.

Naked, surrounded by cracked red clay
she stepped from and onto, this island:

          beautiful fingers and toes
          emerald pools of intoxication
          elegant lips, a perfect nose
          brown flowing silk on scented skin
          she asked,  "What do you need?"
               
With palm leaves a little tattered
its green too imperfect; a quiet answer
did she hear? She looks, yet fears
acceptance of respite constructed
for her.

A mirage?  No my Sweet.
"Pinocchio asks to be a boy."

She gives sips momentarily before leaving
fearful by its promise of difference
its form painfully accepts
this cast of illusion
at her mind's behest.

"Baby, what do you need"
her echo through its reeds
"just believe!"

Return
a silhouette distant
her footsteps away
fill with sand until
they are no more.

A journey quietly guided
by the tears of her Mirage.