Her intelligence had no place
In a world indifferent to the mind;
A cult for the admiration of the body
And her beauty only rivaled her deceipt.
She was like a spider living in a flower.
Waiting for the bees.
But there was space between her sky
and the faces turned toward it;
Like animal tracks fossilized
from prehistoric times.
Sipping generically passionate words
and sniffing sweet cocaine.
She said she collected knives
“Because they’re sexual.”
A parasite living in a host’s veins.
And when she cried
flowers wilted at her feet.
“It’s always better to be
carried away with emotion
than be completely unmoved.”
But when she threw her knees
In the air for me,
she thought about how
pretty words can’t explain
The world that she’s seen;
And she kind of hates people;
A virus in a water filled cell.
But they’re beautiful when they sleep.
She wore death’s grin above her chin;
Like the center of someone else’s galaxy.
She smells like raspberries,
but tastes like rum