Faint flickering lights.
The clock strikes midnight,
She stands
on the doorway,
Dressed to kill,
Waiting for
her man to come
Red bright colour
on her forced moist lips,
Unknown smiles returned
She greets, looks eagerly
Her eyes fixed
on the tingle of paper
in the pockets
The burning stomach
The spreading thighs
An invite to pleasure
written on the
grave of her-self.
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