I'm seeing someone
Her lips are red from kissing wine beneath the sun
Playing her old records on lazy afternoons
Running her fingers through her tangled locks and humming Etta James
She parts her lips to sip her gin and tonic
Red lipstick on her teeth like blood
Her last victim lying somewhere, smoking a cigarette and wondering whether she considers him a god or a fool
She does not consider him at all
There are women that are still walking down imaginary aisles and holding their breath from inside a house of cards.
I am not this woman.
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