She was in love with the hydrogen bomb
the way his muscles dragged to the floor
caused grief in the streets
like the brazen antihero riding his motorcycle into the sunset
burgundy pink, leaving trails of glory and decay
between his feet
like the spit that ricocheted off the wall
into the permeated faces of
those she grew up with but held nothing but disdain
Contempt for their way of life
that so much imposed hers
there’s lead in his tongue
she drinks it with a slice of lime on the side
but she doesn’t know why
when he calls with a threat
like the whipping of knuckles
across her shimmery skin
she accepts that even the sun
causes damage
if you let it in for too long
she was in love with the hydrogen bomb