This was written after a trip to Marakesh, ok so I've used orange, I know!

Once seared by heat marrow changes form,

Air so arid, dry, tasting like school chalk

Epiphanies evoked through eyes of scorn

Can't comprehend these aren't Lancashire folk

New cultural laws, awareness I lack

Minaret dominates a seething mass square

Women in black robes tongues making a clack

Facinated by his gold flaxen hair

Souuks smelling of fresh patchouli and orange

Disorient both mins, soul and senses

Camel leather on stalls haphazard, arranged

Pungent tangs breakdown English defences.

Both cultures misjudged by lack of language

Return to the desert without anguish.