Warm. Like Home.

A little randomness I wrote, thinking about Vegas.

Beyond the edge of a skyline built on lust

Where desire only tempts with rocks and dust

I can reach out into a burning noon

And feel the wind-swept swift monsoon

And traipse across a sandy lawn

I feel warm, like home.

Like the flickered flame on the highest tower

That cascades across the brightest flower

I will dance my eyes on silhouetted clouds

That scratch a back-burned desert, shrouds

Amongst the brush and sanctuary

I feel warm, like home.

Rising up beyond a pavement wall

A rushing river finds a lake to stall

And current washes lower, down

The levels torrid make no sound

As aviary mocks the ground

I feel warm, like home.

Crisp the dew on the Winter's nose

In December quite an adverse flows

A bleak and frigid frost supposed

While snowflakes barely brake a pose

And liquor heats the chilled breath

I feel warm, like home.

And despite what will be broken

By people lost with urge

Mirage of hidden safety

At last is where we merge

And the wind and the heat,

And the sun and the sand

Will never see us away,

I feel warm, like home,

Las Vegas.

I feel warm, like home, each day.