she has the long stride crosswalk hustle,
she’s got them desert wind braced steps,
‘n he’s got them mountain carved features,
‘n she’s got tidal fingers,
ancient slick,
in ‘n out,
force of nature,
‘n those oak barked fingers search,
‘n his wildfire eyes dart,
but she is evening fogged,
burned off as it dawned,
and with her his wallet is gone–
