Once at the guillotine

Now an out-of-focus angel

"Crime is shame, not the scaffold!"

She's got a '45 strapped

To each of her thighs

Speaks French with a Martian accent

Wishes she was a siren

When bathed in happy thoughts

Wishes she was the ladybird

When her wings

Confuse amuse transfuse

Into dreams of blood

Lukewarm prisoner

Detained for seven years

Now lies beside her

Asking for a helping hand

She loosens her corset

But tightens her grip

the sun
rose in your veins

so here i sit

deciphering the plumage
of that fierce dawn

Can i add just one dash of color
to your all black wardrobe
your black and white photography
your dark poetry
your cup of coffee
Can I be the colorful imperfection
in your perfect dark world

deep under emerald green canopies
i hear the twigs snapping and leaves
crunching under your clumsy feet,
and i float away one hundred meters
from the tree that holds our hearts
in the bark, hurriedly engraved.

will you see me as a yellow dot flying
past the tree tops and mistake me
for a shooting star? or trail your gaze
to another beautiful place to escape?
the air has grown thick with smog that
blurs all sense of time and meaning, but
i’ll remember, by heart, the path to the tree
where you engraved yourself into me.