dusty pink lipstick,
colours of the Divine.
Highlighted skin, with cheeks of rose,
who is this women imitating Your dance?
A pit of noise covered by perfume,
these silhouettes grow shorter,
as desires intensify on her lips.

Happiness a tale for a dreamer.
Gladly, I pray, I am auctioned to You.
With tailored hair, garments of choice,
locked in a market of fabrics.
When? I plead,
the glades still move with prediction,
as I graze my hand to the wind.

Held kindly by locks and ropes,
gently she tugs,
mercifully she waits,
a shade of a gentle red – delicately painted on nails,
comfortable shoes, but a chill on an ironed dress,
Paused in a noise – sitting on a bench,
Allah, Allah, Allah she hums…