Her lips glow in just the right light.
Her mouth looks at you
Though her eyes follow something else.
A shadow in the midday sun.
Heat rays rising from the baked sandstone,
An artifact of your own desire.
There is no touch.
It’s a sense traveling by smell,
Something you don't understand.
Aromas of the savannah,
In this heat and later, below the stars,
You are as vulnerable as she wills.
You know it will kill you
Yet you come back to this watering hole,
Moon after sickle moon.
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