Dirty Blonde

Two-pronged claw
squeezing bottleneck —
a pale gold liquid that
drips down her shell.

Wrapped in punch
toned cloth, the roof
painted with rubber eggs
of wild colours and string.

Dirty blonde, twisted —
crashing down,
howling. Eyes shut, blindly
stalking like an animal slaughtered.

Behind a prism, he takes
out his poison dart and
kisses it — beer in his
hoof, pulp exposed.

Originally published by A Thin Slice of Anxiety

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