she had cool fingers
keep you warm all night
she had mean hooves
kicked a sight of dirt
and a black sheen to her coat
she would have smitten me
were it not for the mirror

she had cool fingers but she was a hot one
not breathing fire but the grip of her serious eye
don’t look too long
unless you have silver in your glass
she would have pertrified me
but for the quick of my

these days she’d
be in thigh boots and her hair in a snarl
red lips hot lips too hot to handle
breakfast on you
the flat belly or the rolling one
no qualms about age
she’s got a start on me

she had cool fingers
as the chosen know
between the palm and the heel
the thumb joint
and the heart

she had cool fingers
and she was a rich cunt
a red tongued riotous river
fired up with
the possibility
in what she says to me
misrule in the overhooding sky

she had cool
snarl hair like a wild
she throws up her head
and asks you in
no mirror
just the living