Molly, lotus-legged in Chinese silk,
sits till unseen tumblers finally click—
Lets eat; Lets dance; Lets screw till we’re silly.
And Molly lets you watch as she reassembles herself,
walks with you toward your favorite little café,
but when you step fast to cross with the light
she turns left and is gone,
reappears when-wherever, beckoning hello,
tongues the labyrinth of your ear then bites the lobe.
As drops of blood blossom on cracked yellow tile,
Molly flips the switch and leaves you in the dark.