Red lines
her dark-brown eyes,
where once black kohl smudged hard.
Pale hair showing dark roots and grey,
messy.
Mama,
the word burns her.
Once, the bloody world fell
at her perfectly manicured
pale feet,
but now?
The carnival
sunset over the sea,
signaling marina lights, means
bedtime.
Buildings,
innocuous
in summer day, grow lewd
crimson faces, leering to draw
lost ones
rushing
into things best left
to their elders, if not
their betters, who now only taste
regret.
