You: cheeks stained with opal drops,
lips smudged with ghost kisses.
Film star smoking in the dusk light,
wearing her wrap around coat and a frown.
Give ‘em hell and make them pay,
or cower beneath the blankets and shiver.
She’s a solid punch to the nose
but she does it so well you’ll praise her fist.
And she lets you take the stage for a while,
so she can watch you swing your hips.
Watch her through the frosted glass,
follow her through the demented nights.
Let her make you crazy.
Let her make you cry.