About a Girl

 I fell in love with

her Hope Sandoval impression

while she smoked cigarettes in the 

folding lawn chair 

in the corner of my garage. 

 

She could always make me smile, 

and she could always 

rip my heart away from my body in silence, 

with a Cheshire Cat grin 

and her fingers crossed behind her back. 

 

I want you inside me, 

she said. 

And I was too stupid to reply. 

I pushed the door open 

for her to slither onto my bed 

and take my soul away 

on any particular night of the week. 

 

This was a pattern 

and until yesterday, 

I was always more than happy 

to feed her sick delusions. 

I was a sucker for big brown eyes and plump lips, 

not too mention 

the rest of her, 

which didn’t show the miles put on by a reckless driver. 

 

She was lucky to dodge 

the wear and tear 

many women of her experience

tend to show. 

 

She couldn’t have children, 

if she could 

there would be 

a few regrets

biting the ankles 

of the ghosts who were

dumb enough to ignore the red flags 

and focus on the eyes, 

and lips, 

and the rest of her