The city, holds the desert sky in silence.
She maps the stars, eternal. They push against the fabric of the firmament the night they meet.
He steps into her labrythine fortress, a man once lost but now found.
The statues bronzed in her likeness cast towering shadows across the basin of her cracked-earth facade.
But all at once, here comes the rain, not again but at long last.
She drinks the storm. And begins to fully unfurl.
All it takes is one hand held.
Her heart now given begins drawing its devotion drawn onto letter printed papered chutes. She boxes them in wood. She the Driver, Baby, and he, the Duke.
These siren soul songs, these india-inked moments will become the mapped markings he must learn to follow, back to her.
Searching for the hidden landscapes to which she is now bethrothed, so that he may plow the earth with hands that still remember that first embrace, tilling the soil that will in time grow her reborn heart.