Her shoes shine ruby red against the white door frame,

covering silver toes that climb into chainlink legs,

the mesh dress revealing every bit of darkness

behind her, every inch of not-flesh-flesh half-obscured.

As she holds the phone in her hand, she scoffs,

lips curled in a smile at the latest text message on screen.

Her hair has crawled out of the sixties,

framing a face that feels like it belongs behind 

a thick layer of fog, or a sleek scarf,

just those gray eyes peering out

as she asks you what you’re doing at her house,

even though the open door is clearly an invitation.

You look at her, determined not to flinch under

that piercing, steel-sharp gaze. You lift your hand

in a small wave, smile on your lipless face

as you say that same damn, lame line:

“I just wanted to see you again.”