The Dust

Her eyes are dust;

Not the saddened grey of the attic,
But a vibrant brownish orange,
A step below gold,
But a step above sand.

Those hazel beauties;
How they captivate me so strongly.
They look straight into me,
Pleading my eyes to release.

But I don't let up.

A palm touches my arm.
She smiles.

The sun,
It catches her face,
As she turns,
Highlighting the dust.

Her lips move,
But all I see is her eyes;
I have given them my trust.

Yet, here she goes,
Gone as fast as the wind.

My pair of oceans,
Beg and beg,
That the dust stay out of the open.
Their current is strong,
But they can only work for so long.

She leans forward,
Gives me a kiss,
And the bond is broken.
Her eyes are closed only a second,
But that's enough to free her.

My feet suddenly burn in the sun,
I feel the urge to run,
And my throat is burning.

I'm back down to Earth.

My boots,
Once black and true,
Are now powder and crust,
From the desert dust.

A car’s engine scrapes to life.

As the rusty ford turns,
I stare into it’s window,
Looking for my dust.

The window is opaque;
A film of dirt saves her from my gaze,
Searching for what it wants to take.

The rusty ford accelerates,
Giving life to a billowing cloud,
Of the desert’s dust.

It stings my eyes;

It is the source of my tears,
And my sole testament of the years,
That I spent holding the girl who cries.

The ford of rust,
Runs from my oceans,
Driving onto the cracked cement,
And into the distance.

Under the fiery sun,
Is where my lover,

Leaves me in the dust.