Brazen,
She cocks her head
Studying the damage.
Swaying to an obscene rhythm
Like a creature
Like a something
A nothing
She dances, on everything destroyed
By her
Gleeful at her escape
From tightly barred doors
Now burnt, demeaned
She is beyond my reach
Her deception
Is fresh and clean
Even as she reeks
Mossy, matted curls,
Soiled, clammy skin
Old bruises
She fascinates and abhors me
I see us both
Clearly
She, burning in her own sin
Me, calm in sacred linen
But the more our gaze lingers
The more I smell
The moss in my own hair
The grime on my face
The stale bruises
‘Come’, I whisper
As I pick her up
Because holding her hand just won’t do
Come. I take her back
Back home with me…
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