Kidnapped

Kidnapped,
dropped off on the 
other side of midnight,
I awake facedown,
blindfolded, gagged,
once again tricked by 
the lull of moon,
the swoon of sky,
the rhythm and sway of Darkness—
how she wore her
black jeweled gown, her ruby pendant
dazzling me in her constellation of diamonds,
extending her hand, inviting me to taste
the sweet spin away from the sun.
How I trusted the night.

This time abandoned in a desert,
barefoot, map-less, no compass to 
lead me back.
Thirsty, aching, I turn
thick-tongued under
an oppressive cloaked star,
my cheeks, an oatmeal itch—
my lips, a searing bridge—
sandpaper palms reach up 
to a beating temple,
reach down to fleshy knobs of hips,
come to pause on a throbbing, angry belly,
my body—one giant heart,
pulsating, panicked, parched.

I search the dreamless sands
for my sandaled God
or at least His words
for a lullaby to replace this
pounding swish in my ears,
for a cranberry blanket, coolly
woven with faces of comfort.
Instead, I find ghosts,
little-legged creatures
sometimes stone-faced
with ten thousand eyes,
nocturnal desert dwellers
crawling through the folds of my brain,
leaving sticky webs in places
where dreams are born,
dulling my taste buds to the 
seductive kiss of sleep.