The Santa Ana Wind

gusts down

desert canyons.

Hot. Dry. Electric.

Some say

            it ignites tempers.

I say

            it ignited us.

It howled around outside,

battering the house

with dried palm fronds.

Debris snatched up

flung down

snatched up again.

A wind so greedy

it couldn’t bear

to discard the tiniest scrap.

A greedy wind that wanted it all.

And when

our lips touched

for the first time

I flamed up

greedy too

and the pounding in my ears

could have been

the rush of my blood

or the Santa Ana wind

shrieking

for more.