"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.