she

she likes to hurt when she loves.
pulls apart the apron strings tying
her to decency,
and naked will decay before his very moral
eyes.

 

seeing visions of angels and apple trees
she will climb the stairs like a
veteran, to find the roof more spacious
than she would have it,
and would go back down
into a smoky room and tell
all the sailors that she is pretty.

 

her cherub cheeks would flare. and they,
those pretty thieves, would take her
to their beds and love her just enough
for all the pain beside;

 

her fathers, felt once more.

Reviews

[fireblossom]

that is a great poem. she trapped into the cycle of filling the black hole with fantasy nothingness. really nice write.