The Woman Next Door
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| open source photo from internet dreamstime.com |
You are different, Frances
Burning not like a candle flame
But like a conflagration
Your long, black hair holds witchcraft
Your features, a tabloid
Made up of many races
The sash you wrap around your slender waist
Perks up the earth-hued gown that covers you
You want life,
Want more,
Want to jump before looking.
Those feline eyes,
Must I be drawn into their ring,
Where courage battles death,
Where wounds are icons,
And where your greedy laugh is fed?
By Eva Hansen (c) copyright 2015
Published here by permission.
