Golden Girl

Lambasting wave, sixty feet high with Stygian heart,
Which, with familiar thump, approaches like
Allegro to vivace to prestissimo, matching my dread.

Surface tension gives way, a smashed watermelon,
And whetted words sloosh from the puncture to
Cascade frothily towards the girl, small and golden.

Not drenched by your carping fracture, but impaled.
Cornered, she. How I wish to swipe the supercilious
Away and let soggy words roll from her cheeks like oil.


3 thoughts on “Golden Girl

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