Qudira

You laugh like Camus, the desert doesn't frighten you, your flowers hang in ruin, we go to meet the few, my partner faintly rues, writers who exude, an almond like bloom, on a weary afternoon, against a sea looking blue, nothing here to scare you, just the yellow truth, poetry of her tunes, she 'phones someone new, 'pillow talk' she soothes, ‘we're at the Belle D'Omjou,' come and see the view, powdered to make you swoon, her fragrance like glue, saturates the room.