Edit 1To Dakhla-Par Avion. Second Leg EsSenia to Casablanca.(Warning-Contains poetry)

[Leanne]

Es Senia sizzled, throwing up the city's scent to sea-moist layer.
Through shifting haze of mustard dust, we banked and slipped to speeding ground.
No one could speak as thermals drummed and tumbled us through twisting air;
with final lunge, the nose flicked up, the engine cut…and we were down.

The desert sang a silent song as we took shade beneath a wing.
Dry heat rose smooth from concrete slabs, and scorching, made just breathing cruel. -- ?no comma after slabs
Burnt oil, smoke-black and vapourised, caused searching eyes to squint and sting. -- a bit of a mouthful at the start of the line, maybe "oil burnt to black and vapourised"?
With hands to brows we scanned the sand; a tanker, planned, should bring us fuel.

A miraged mirror danced around, turning senses upside down; -- not sure you need the d on miraged
we looked to where we heard a cry, but by the haze were rendered blind.
Incongruous! From out of sight, came horns honk-honking all around!
In disbelief we laughed relief, as cyclists, five, became defined. -- ?no comma after relief

Two panniere tanks were strapped to frames, and twenty gallons each man lugged;
but beaming miles of toothless smiles, our carriers agreed a fee.
Upon one cross-bar sat a pump, and in to it a hose was plugged; -- maybe "into this"? That's a bit softer on the tongue
one pull upon the starter chord, a smoky cough, and fuel flowed free.

Beer drunk, and mezze shared around, each felt replete, with thirst well slaked; -- ?no comma after drunk
like risen breads we stuck our heads into the cockpit's oven heat.
Our pilot, brave by urge to leave, leapt in and turned the prop, still braked.
The thrust blew dust but cooled us and so on the wings each found a seat.

Two hundred yards was run enough, we clambered back in-board the crate .
A swing to sun, a roaring thrum, then great elation from the climb;
up through unstable air we bucked, our guts distressed by shifting weight.
Grey faced, the crew more sickly grew....we levelled off, not quite in time.

At cruising height, flaps feigned us light, but flying slow would cost us dear.
With fuel tanks full and likewise us, our pilot gravely pointed out
that we may need another stop, though Al Massira, Agadir,
was possible if winds veered south..... but in his tone we sensed the doubt. -- od'd on dots with your ellipsis

The tossing, pitching, yawing flight was bringing on a wish to die.
As sickness took a hold, the bold confessed a wish to walk on sand. -- two wishes in close proximity -- unless there's an innumerate genie around, probably best just stick to one or the other
We all agreed we'd rather be down on the ground looking to sky
than up above and looking down. We cast our votes and dived to land.

Old Casablanca sprawled, unkempt; we skirted suburbs dusty, grim.
So low we flew we thought we knew the folk in alleyways beneath.
No sand in sight, just waste and blight until ahead, dark, lush and prim
a patch of verdancy appeared; green Casa Town meant soon relief.

We banked hard left and hailed the con. The radio burst forth in tongues.
From out of garbled, strident shouts, "Clear to land" came through the din;
though who could claim the granted wish (as in this aether many hung!), -- all right, which fucking wish is this?
were left to providence and fate....those two pretenders steered us in.

This is the joy the gods would keep, as they look down on rock-strewn land;
This is the beauty height bestows upon a desert man has claimed.
This is the wonder and dismay, that blood has fertilised the sand;
but we who gazed on Eden's earth, we fly as gods fly, unrestrained.

For pete ak. I dared!
tectak

As narratives go, this is a bit of a beauty actually. It's quite light with a lovely bouncy meter in contrast to reasonably dramatic subject matter -- and the final stanza is outstanding.