Surface bruising

Classes with those double entendres.
Each syllable with lashings of opium,
Blood red like the poppy.
She wanders in
A dark shade across her cheek,
Blue trickling towards her mouth,
Green blooming from her eye.
Dogs roll over,
Belly up and vulnerable.

Sticks pound on taught skin,
Frosted glass at every orifice,
So that you can’t see in.
The frosted windows that she fell through,
And wandered into class,
Fresh from the door.
Three strikes and you’re out.