Woman on Top
Pretty lady, give us a smile, her actions for his fancy.
She bares her teeth, whore!
Not your demure darlin’ no more.
She wears fishnets and they call her a slut,
feigned oblivion to her aces high and dazzling mind.
To be so obscene was a nightmare,
a beautiful angel with the devil’s tongue,
drunk on cheap whiskey and rum.
She wakes up feeling the absence of wings.
Stumbling out, the dirty blonde
wore smudged mascara as a weapon and tears in her eyes she donned.
Her knees are bruised blue-black, knuckles red like cherry chapstick.
Still, she never lets the soft bones of her body rest, never gives them their hollow victories.
Still, she staggers home – disheveled and
dripping blood from the stumps on her back and all –
haunted humming as she drags her severed wings behind her.
Even as the stained relic trails as crimson,
no way you’ll see her crawl.