Let me paint you a picture of this girl.

Imagine a witches cauldron
Heavy, haunting, metal.
Make it as big as a hot tub
As big as three hot tubs.
Fill it with a bright bubbling yellow cream.
picture yourself standing in it.
thick stringy mucus elastics from your wrists.
As you cook.
She is singing.
You are quicksand bound to this 90 degree boiling snot bucket
And she's singing.

Brown purple and green
Dancing in dreadlocks
Sprinkling a little clamshell of mermaid.
Cod peice of Prince
Naked now.
Starring at you.
Almost asking.
Mostly stirring in her own devices.

The cauldron smells less like boiling flesh then you expected.
It's more like a sweet hazey butter scent.
Like autumn squash.

This whole time you couldn't move, but now you don't want to.
She's so beautiful, dancing
Her small perky chest and curved swinging hips.
A tattoo, or a birthmark just above right where you want to kiss.

She traces your chin to tell you something.
You try so hard to listen over the crackling and popping of the thick yellow cream surrounding you.
With a soft whimper,
Biting your lip
Pulling your hair
Straight down back
Into the scalding liquid
goodbye into the melting ***.
Your eyes glaze over
Breath hot Thick Mucus into your throat.
Choke on the yellow soup.

And when you wake up.
your memory is of singing.
The brown green purple notes.
Her Perky chest, curved hips
Dancing.
A tattoo, or a birthmark,
Fuzzy, like you forgot some of the details.
You wish you could see her again.
Maybe it will help you remember.