Sacred Rhythm

Hips shifting. I hang a sign
“My soul is not for sale.” 
around my neck.
People approach his upholstered chair
strategically positioned, 

it remains vacant 
in the consignment store.
I seat my language
upon the landscape vapor 
a desert, embellished with torrid tears
helpless hearts, we are. 

These frozen moments tucked indoors
you read me as tea leaves
floating swiftly towards the forest floor.

Embellished with a beady smile 
you pour favor from a thousand rainbows
upon this ocean corridor.