Desert Rose

I hear a woman's voice,
Rumbling
Softly
From the speakers,
Of this ageless yellow box.

Mixed with dreams of rain,
Trendils of smoke,
Tables of orange,  [uck]
Chatter,
And the bustle of work.

One calling,
"Scattered, smothered, covered"
"Thank you!"
Comes the reply.

All as we wait,
For waffle,  [yum]
And a bit of coffee.
As you sit,
Cigarette lit.  [bad habit... you should quit!]

And I hear Sting
[no... not a bee]
Sing of his desert flower
  His sweet perfume
     His tortured soul.
Of...
His desert rose.

Then, 
You take my hand,
Kiss it gently, smiling,
I return.

Hearing from your lips,
"My own desert rose..."