That searing again, when the blood struck
(I’d felt it before, when he kissed me.)
A scarlet syrup cape and toothy crown.
My twice-red roses, soaked.
My sash a gooey gash.
A Liberty of sorts, struck stuck,
I stare out at a sea of powder blue,
Of ruffled shirts and feathered hair.
Waves of crashing laughter.
Hands clap and flutter (gulls).
That fly’s-eye disco ball, it
Bounces back my shattered slivered self,
Silver souvenirs of me
And me and me
At whom it winks, a knowing moon.
Blood’s tide comes in, my brain
Steel cries as the door slaps shut