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Her Face Was Sallow
May 9, 2024
Her face was sallow, her nails were thick,
Her legs were thin as the sheets.
She grew no hair, a carpaccio girl,
Her stomach was thinly sliced meat.
And I'd see her on Tuesdays, the way that she'd smile
was haunting as beauty could be.
Though unsettled I'd feel as she swung her dark hair,
Her contrast was enfeebling me.
Away then she'd stride, her slowly weakening knees,
staggering her to the floor.
And one random Tuesday, her thin sallow skin
could not be seen anymore.
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