She’s the kind of girl
You can’t trust,
You don’t want to touch her
But your hands won’t listen.
She vacuums in stiletto heels
Because it’s ‘good for the thighs,’
Waves at strangers in passing cars
With a tingle in her midsection.
She is partial to loneliness,
An inked letter never sealed,
What she has to say orbits
The milky gleam
Of every new moon, unread.
Would witch-hunt her if they could,
Of her black eyes, her too-dark hair,
She is something unearthed,
An uninhabitable haven
With a solar core that burns your feet.
Even when you wish her away
The words she’s written
Swim the atmosphere
Like a liquid helium
That halts the cold bell of your heart
And melts the metal.
Fearless as a filament midflight,
She’s the type of girl
Who likes to keep the lights on,
The kind of girl you’d liketo take home, though you don’t.
Written for a prompt at Magpie Tales.