The Girl At The Red Light


Born to inhabit men’s minds,
walk saucily through their dreams,
and overflow with love
for the right one,
she was hotter than any woman
had a right to be.

Dark limbed and smooth-skinned
she was hysterical perfection,
a drop of bright blood
in crystalline white,
she had all of champagne’s sparkle
with none of the headache.

Her walk was emerald green
and theatrical,
so nuanced
and subtle
you got a bit snake-charmed
at her gait.

Watching her muscles wrestle
beneath that summer silk dress
was like snorting China White
on the corner
of 18th and nowhere,
a drop of battery acid
in each eye.

She was sensory overload.

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