The Flame Haired Siren

There she was on stage, way above my head,

The lower ground strooned with bodies studded with lights;

I sneak amongst them.


The flame haired siren approaches on her belly,

And with a marker she takes to my arms.

Drawings of a high kick in stockings,

Over the Hindi Swastika.


She spits mints into my open mouth,

As i wake up in a pool of moisture and sweaty shivers,

Followed by a turn and back into it.


Grids of flashing colour,

Pink on top of pastel blue squares that outline her frame,

Like a crime scene.

With blood running everywhere as she breaks into the classics.


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