She flows in strange vessels, dripping out of her pores like music notes drunk on the moonlight debris. She heaves like a thousand seas and rips apart the patriarch with purple fingernails and cadaver bones. Her breathes are colored with the taint of regret, as if every inhale is a worry and every exhale is a doubt. Yet she speaks in soft shelled stutters with a trip of the tongue here and a pitch of the poem there. Her hair encircles galaxies with its twist and in each braid has surfaced such ships as Titanic could’ve dreamed of.  Her hips sway in time to each blink that surveys her, staring at the endless wasteful energy she pours forth from her ****** innuendo wink and her children’s storytime simper.