Silk light simplifying the world,
how soft-fallen each curl wanders unheard.
Mourning whimpers wagering
the life of a girl, each gentle demand
a war gripping fists of fertile sherds
planting thrusting kisses onto
her hard soil, dampening her plush floor.
Nature whistling—feral cats calling
suns to descend—indecencies address
her molten form with torn verbs.
Not shaken but spurned, understood
yet unheard, she couldn’t run, but Natalie would.