• She licks the ice cream,
    pink champagne,
    where it drips between her fingertips
    like a clock that only ticks
    in a pantomime of
    summer's grace and trick.

    With gloss on her lips
    and the lace on her hips
    like the blush on porcelain
    not a child or a queen
    and just this side of
    in between.

    But she's a woman
    and a liar
    she's a serpent in the briar
    she's painted her sapphire eyes
    in innocence, a glaze.
    And everyone is terrified
    someday she'll find the sex inside
    her legs and in her head and on her heart.

    For now, she licks the champagne
    from her fingers at the park.