A sinister blow awashes the sand,

her howling gale socks me off my feet,

searing granuals cling to my glassy eyes,

tailoring a new gritty - hot - layer of sclera.

Her desolate palm lifts me up,

I rise with the heat,

to meet her harsh gaze,

beaming on my fast wilting flesh.

She cackles at me like a Jeep.

But I'm too high up now to leap.

I was urged to beware her dire exhale.

Not to get caught on her breath,

preceding the sweap of death.

Or so it is echoed in the folktale.

"Be not an imposter, knight or pittiful jester."

This warm brown sea is turning red,

afterall, they warned you never to pester,

the tender mother you tred.

She will destroy all surfaces,

Birth vast dune caves with a sneeze.

Empty the shifting lining beneath your feet,

and digest you whole.