character study no.1

When she arches her spine,
the line of her chin cuts
like a laser; the sway of her hair
smells of late-summer roses.
Her hips
are glorious;
her calves, twin plumes
of aerosolized ecstasy.
Her puddled skirt
drips secret joys
onto night canvasses best
found in oblivion.

But as the fog lifts off the river, she
shrinks like an angel’s
trumpet in the rising sun,
her pale pink petals
thorning and wilted.
The slats of half-closed blinds
leave stippled
oubliettes across
the valley of her back.
Forlorn,
he pricks
until she bleeds,
puddling her blue iron
tears onto narrow
pineboard floors.