Staub

She walks into the room, all smiles; sunlight glinting

off a bare shoulder. Hips cut from marble, breasts perfect and,

of course,

supple.

Radiance in female form; the sun a dull bulb.

Being noticed is her intent, her resource, her dark power. 

I do. I do. I do.

My intent, my dark downfall.

I forget it's my own dried blood upon my sleeve, my own sticky

trail trailing me. She floats over it undaunted, unfeeling. She

embraces me all teeth and tendrils. Ink for blood writing all over

my broken heart with her notes of fuck you in the font of love.

Glass blows through my eyes.

Hope, a serial killer, with a killer grin. A kiss between slick lips

wet

with the promise of finding home.