"Under her red velvet
Dress

She had bruises
And no panties."

Just another one of those things
That happens when you get lost.

Tidal wave moons under a nocturnal
Walker it doesn't matter if she tells

You she got the bruises from fighting for her life.
You'll get that look

That says,
"Poor dear, denies

It."
It doesn't matter if she told you

Bare skin to bare skin is a better protection
Than any martial arts

When it comes to her,
And she gets an odd, pervasive pleasure

In flashing the tops of her stockings.
Knowing they can see

And desire
But never touch.

She's the ultimate wet dream.
Untouchable. Walking the tidal

Rocket moons under sidewalk stars.
She's a nocturnal beast,

Embryonic in her yearnings.
Her fluttering heart,

Collapsing the air around young men
As they pull to her nocturnal

Need and wonder who put
That string of bruises,

So like a chain of daisies,
Around her throat.