Nestled in my lap, dense curls of red,
Bouncy spindles of fragrance,
Further down, soft white canvas,
Her face,
Little red vein under left nostril,
Peaking behind concealer,
Pursed doll lips,
Summer eyes like algae at the bottom of a pool,
Engulfing,
And vision dimming as she pulls closer.

Other days, she ties back the copper curls,
The smell of six hour perspiration,
Further down, glistening raw bacon fat,
Her forehead,
Brow clenched, she sizzles hostile,
Snatches cigarettes, slouching by the window,
Her mouth cracks whips,
The spit, shrill drizzle turns downpour of tobacco and liquer,
Flood,
And vision dimming as she pulls me under.

Finally,
A desperate stroke breaks undertow,
And you sink,
My heavy hearted,
Gazing up like green algae,
At the bottom of a rusty pool,
In the backyard of a rickety home,
That never housed a family,
In a culdesac of a neighbood with no neighbors,
In a development that never developed,
On a street with no roads,
In a city so forgotten,
No one could bother to tear it down.