Train tracks gash from her backbones,

Iron jags for shoulders, wailing

Molten as the spite of Icarus two-thirds of the way plummeting down

She freewheels on plexiglass feet

Pendulum crashing between tongue and teeth with each name she spits

All meaning lost somewhere in the space between lighthouse eyes twenty years ahead of their time

And phonograph ears still scratching out the sounds of the hands between her thighs last night

Soft stones and seaglass stitch mosaic-pale into her skin and

Cherry-blossom reek tucks blurry under sharp nail beds

The broken beat of her intrigue wrought so hazy you would never know

That once beneath these hip bones

Lived the mud of backs broken underfoot

And the splinters of the porch of the house teetering on the edge of the world

And when she stumbles into your arms

Like a man from death row, walking just a little too fast,

You taste the motor oil static of her pulse along your wrist

And never once realize

You were never her reprieve,

Only somewhere to escape.