Sunlit Standoff on the City Strip

She holds the steel where noonlight burns the street, Her shadow cuts the chrome in measured flare. A palm tree listens, still, to slow heartbeats, While city dust turns bright in open air. White fabric gleams; her tattoos speak in lines, A hard-won script the summer will not fade. The engine waits, a hymn of tight designs, As silence loads the moment like a blade.