The young girl killed her lungs last night,
bruises on her knees,
Effort laid upon the bed,
To put the boy at ease,
She swayed and sung the verses of the violent seven seas.
Her hair, a tangle of the deepest kind
Likened to the galaxy,
A web of stars not yet defined,
She lay beside him, breathless, violently.
Oh storm! What cycle! The heavens opened up,
And there she lay, in Santa Cruz upon a lover’s luck.
Despite the rain, and cold, wet night,
A spark came forth upon dry skin,
She screamed and moaned with sheer delight,
As she left her love upon the floor and joined the forces with the night.
I burned last night, he slept in ash,
No remnants of my tangled hair,
Not a single trace I left behind, save for the perfume in the air.