He walks amongst the desert dunes. The atmosphere, only arid.
Sun beats down upon his sunburned back, over-saturating him with melanin.
The sensation of winds and water hasn't been felt, for what seems to be an eternity.
So rare a reprieve has been felt, that he can't recall them even subtlety.

—

She moves like air.
Cool breeze caresses his skin only for a moment before dissipation.
His body perks up, but he's fearful of harvesting anticipation.
But aren't never ending, the movements of the winds?
Patiently he waits for her gentle touch to blow his windswept hair back and grace him once again.
Like clockwork, in repetitious and rhythmic beats, her winds alternate between caressing strength and absent wanes.

—

But soon, it becomes torturous.
He's riddled with frustration as her gusts becomes erratic.
What seems to be the loving embrace of hurricane force winds abruptly becomes static.
Whether the weather begins to die down or he's simply null to the breezes,
He can't help but feel isolated, disjointed, with his feelings.
Everything's becoming esoteric, specific to only him.

—

He's screaming out his feelings now, as if trying to resummon her winds.
You'd think him to be completely dependent, with the anxiety he expels.
Why does he thrash about in the desert sand, sobbing for the lightest push of air?
Does the air keep him standing? Make it easier to breathe?
Or is it simply so a rare a reprieve,
An endless summer's cool breeze?
He puts his hands up towards the sky, a final request for the wind's return.
But much to his horrid dismay, his desperate call goes unrelayed.