
Smooth, scathing like fire, cascading down
my leg, giving only reprieve to the sliced
out portion.
Silk? Shall I skimp on quality?
Black, with a cat's aura.
Slinking through crevices, falling...
down...
down.
Until it is a puddle of,
unfiltered molasses on the ground.
I move, the dress solidifies my appeal.
Black diamonds of sin sway with me,
I'm alive.
-Anjel Russell