She was lust in the morning
     and art by nightfall

Where she whispered halfway moans
     of words plagiarized off the wall

Some little death
Some ironic typography
     reinventing fate
    
Manifesting her destiny
     In stutters
     she gaits

A soul tripped out of the dream machinery

Now she's standing naked
     In the door way

The threshold
     between mundane and fantasy

Staring down the destiny
     about me

She asks me
     to follow her bliss

Her skin heralds the call
     to my hands around her neck

She wants to be
     bruised
     So Gracefully

Pulling her hair back
     dragged
     in and out of dreams