Song

She who is a composition in blue and orange.
She who is ice water tumbling on rocks.
She who is top of the tower.
She who is willow bending in the wind.
She who is Chopin Nocturne 72.
She who is meeting the devil at the crossroads.
She who is strawberry wine with a dash of cyanide.
She who is the white wolf hunting by moonlight.
She who is neon or xenon or argon or helium, balloons floating on a summer day.
She who has been crash tested in extreme situations.
She who has no centre of gravity.
She who will leave dirt tracks all over your fat face.
She who has small sharp white teeth.
She who has sensational performance.
She who has eye of the kestrel.
She who is splendid in solitude.
She who is the child of Kali.
She who is revolving door.
She who is the crack in the plaster.
She who is a razor’s edge.
She who is the smell of hot tarmac.
She who is cripple bitch.
She who is me.

 

DB21408A-5301-4A33-90A4-6F281CEFC80D
Photograph by the author

3 thoughts on “Song

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