There, there she goes,
with her mane of mahogany sunbeams
curving, cantering down to flounce
against her waist, and lips like
hibiscus blooms full to bursting with
snatched poetry –
she doesn't drink and she's a virgin,
holy perfect cocktease;
cheekbones, collarbones cutting steam
the boys are hot and hard as burning rocks
and then her tongue licks up
their panting and whispers a filthy no, goodbye.
Her eyes are glittering glittering
as she steals puffs of cigarettes and
Chanel No. 5,
twisting her nose-diamond and
sliding the anklet up and down her calves.
Oh oh, she doesn't know she's the twenty-year-old
dream of her fifteen-year-old reality;
she may steal life as she pleases.