Sun against sky-scapes. Warm backed reptiles made of moving metal glide effortlessly along the jagged stones.
A boy tears his knees and leaves blood among the sedimentary tombstones. Sand fills the cracks on the insides of his toes. His face turned upward so that the sunshine may burn it’s wisdom on the bridge of his nose. It will leave parchment memos of skin as a testament to his time spent in the hourglass of this landscape. Flowers hang red and angry from the green of sharp cacti. Bloom pale white to attract the clouds which never seem to grace this ocean of heat. Rough hands find sister callouses in the minerals of dried sea beds. He does not long for the sweet temperature of the forest, but cries out for his home among the rocks.
The lost desert prince, who will wake from this dream in a moist pool of rough cotton sheets. His only rocks will be mad buildings as tall as Sun Gods. Reflections in mad mirrors. Lizards of industry. Cut flowers in warm water. Dirt for every grain of sand and the wet mud of city gutters. Clouds which stay, hanging over his head. His tears will be pulled from pale skin by the dry heat of an overcrowded sauna. For he is a long way from home.