Dust of Dreams
Phoenix Mountains cradle the sun between
two peaks. Streaks of auburn and scarlet
smear across the gently darkening scene,
preparing the canvas for a sky starlit
and our crescent moon. You and I twirl
on the rooftop of your apartment.
As you pirouette, your leg muscles
harden. Your controlled elegance outlined
by burning light tracing each curve and curl.
Your final step lands your face before mine.
My hand moves to your hips, pulling you closely
enough to kiss. I taste your breath of red wine
before our eyes wander beyond the roof’s railing
I whisper, “You are the dust of my dreams,
our fantasies still unfinished, unfolding.”
We look down at homes of stucco and adobe,
“Some day, one of those will belong to us
with grand desert willows and olive trees.”
Makaila Aarin works as an academic librarian in Mississippi where she lives with her three rescue dogs. She holds degrees in English, library science, and education. Currently, she is pursuing an MFA in creative writing. Her poetry has appeared in Prismatica Magazine, Stone of Madness, Glitch Words, Tipping the Scales, Poetically Magazine, and other magazines. Her work is forthcoming in Dwelling Literary and Sinister Wisdom. Find her on Twitter: @makaila_aarin