In the dark-water night,
She rose from the breath
of our Lord Creator,
rows of teeth
lining her open, sangria mouth–
glinty, pearlized white
with which to eat diamond-encrusted
watches, no worries,
she has another she gifted herself
inside her leather tote, of course
it is new, it cost a small drop of fortune.
You have left her
to this rough fate,
she people watches
on the sun-showered streets,
with swatches of ruby glamor.
She thinks about her next devour
teeth sharp as her red-backed heels,
justified to you after all,
since an item of her clothing
never exceeds five-hundred dollars.
You have made her this way.
Once she thought outside of herself,
now she just wants
the next kill, thread counts
Deep wine, her mottled love —
this desire is easy as it is lazy.
The entourage swoons
and she feeds them chalky compliments,
tells them every sea or hill she visits
is the most beautiful sight in the world,
because you have seen her posed lacquer,
fangs-wide, mouth open, in smiles.