dressed in pain
hide in the street
cobble stones and brine
while horses that are
hide in the shadows.
she sees and holds her hands,
dreaming of hooves burning into her.
her desire pierces
as she licks the
in flames. writhing creatures neon comedians
wrapped around her for her to punish
she swims with them now
in black puddle light-show boiling,
shot through with red and white
the glass cracking
the glass that houses them sheared
serving sliced memories of her loss.
now welcoming the maw of sleep
shot into the night and
crashing beneath the moon
what came before
just an embellishment
of the pagan desires tingling her tongue
split and sensitive offering up taste and pleasure.
By Peter Marra