Blasts of orange sand fill his wet eyes.
He clutches for the desert sky.
Cobalt, wanting, but sudden dark.
His head spins as he hears her cry.
The sky released and became stark.
Gazing up, he saw her white mark.
She was falling, slowly, to earth.
His palm opened for her bright sparks.
Ginger sand bowed to her white mirth.
He stood covered in her fair girth.
Her song fell lightly in its wake.
Her body encompassed his worth.
He puzzled over the sandy lake,
Enclosed beneath her ice white flakes.
Never had he seen such wonder,
Snow in the desert, while awake.
He knew then he must be under,
Whether a spell or sleep blunder,
A devious path was laid ahead,
Then he heard a crash of thunder.
She was livid as his trust shred.
She was irate he was not dead.
Her wrath palpable, quiet, he cried.
And sleep quickly consumed his head.
When he awoke he was surprised.
He felt like the desert had lied.
Burnt orange was no longer aglow.
But pitch black as if he had died.
He looked around for his white snow.
But she left him in the dark woe.
She had taken all his senses,
And never again would she sow.
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