Her backbone: white, red, and silver with steel
Dripping snakebite medicine
Numbing the pain of fusion.
Clear, fluid, and all too subtle,
It melts the barriers of the frail-framed girl
Who holds the snake at her throat
To let it hear her breathe... slow... stop... succumb.

Trees grew from her teeth
And were claimed by the legless and her black-scaled spawn as a temple.
Meanwhile the concrete bled a child
Next to a pool that sat reflective and blue
Like the watery aftermath of suffocation.

The five months of wanting made her on edge;
Trembling and thinking and anything but fucking;
Made her want
Made her weep.

Her beauty was disquieting:
Her swan neck long, glowing, and graceful
Her face void of the thickness of the whores' paint
Her dress modest and dark and soft as night
Her voice whispering;sensuous
Her sex- a work of art
Sacrificed on the altar of her youth

And as the love hiding between the sheets unfolded,
The paint dried and slept into darker, warmer hues.

They say wisdom lies in the ears
Like Buddha sitting
Cross-legged and peaceful
With the macroverse in his sensible grasp

But their ears were burning
As she turned away toward the mock comfort of the sea,
With love blushing in her thighs,
Her taste for baptisms by fire pushed to the bottom of a blue ocean.



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