Her hair was like a sunset,
Dark red sand that faded
into the golden silk of sunlight.
The wind passed her cheek bones
to the nape of her neck,
touching blush skin through her
blouse.
Her eyes were hazel with specks of
sunflowers as she walked through
the night.
And like the night she walked,
With love at her side and wrath in her hands.
Her lips were smoke-- a cigar with
flames of pure madness.
A madness that comes then dances
around you in a wild blaze of
anthropometry.
Testing your empty soul and filling you
with hope,
Then dousing your feet with charcoal.
You begin to walk with her,
leaving your mark on the land.
Your charcoal feet.
Her hands of wrath.
Your empty soul,
and her sunflower eyes.