Wrapped like a

satin polka dot dress around a curved and sloped bare

terrain.

Not like the dry barren plains of the west with their prairie dog holes. I always see them in my thoughts of that cracking yellow earth.

Not like that frigid frostbitten air that nips

at my neck like a him who I turn from

after I flash my naked and open

eyes

dropped low like

the satin polka dot dress

after it undulates around my waist from the wake of my step.

Wrapped at my feet like a river wraps around the fresh green

earthy smell of grass.

Wrapped and trapped.

But

I would be consumed by that slithering

skulking

stream.

Only

it doesn't exist.