She had wings,
big and black,
tattooed on her back.
They reached up
above her flimsy top,
as if she might take off any second.
They looked strong, powerful;
I envied her conviction,
Did it hurt much?
Did she feel the blood bead on her young skin,
with every touch, every prick of the needle?
A modern Cleopatra clad in black
with dark, dark eyes, she interwines
her silver-laden fingers with another, I presume her lover.
I never saw her leave but could have sworn
I felt cold on the back of my neck,
a shiver and then nothing.
*published in The Stony Thursday