Hourglass

Her skin is the sand
            tan and free running
She curls her body around purple mountains,
holding them to her breasts
Her breath, the icy air moving between leaves

Her hair, muddy brown blue

            beckoning in its movement
Gilded liquid fingers,
tickling sucking toes

There is dawn in her hair

            and sunset in her eyes
Orange, pink, yellow twilight ribbons, flecks of liquid turquoise

Bits of starlight

            glazing the sand
            in the crooks of her elbows,
            behind her knees
Piercing, bedazzled loops and stones

She lies, a contented desert cat
Her paws, the rocks
Her nails, the cactus

Her backbone

            the ridges of roughened roads,
            tire track memory and deep arroyos

Her monsoon tears wash away summer heat,
            crackling heat,
            dry lip sucking heat

She shifts her hips to make room for winter,

snow collecting on the mountains held to her chest

With her sigh,

            a rush of spring
            and a stretch awake

She is death, this desert woman

Her figure, the hourglass

Her skin forever shifting in time

When she kisses you goodbye

sandpaper swift
            she leaves you uncovered
            bone white and raw
but more true for having loved her