Her Doc Martins hit the ground

Aglets hit the cities
blackened concrete sidewalks
as not I,
but the streets

crafted;
narrowly constructed
the perfect woman
fantasies had been sculpted of.

nylon black stockings
built on punk rock prelude,
bike lock blonde locks,
steel garage door strut

to shut you down cold & rusty in her wake.
built on leather jacket studded fuck you's
cupid's arrow throwing dagger looks
as us

willing victims
lined up as the next chump sucker,
all the while hoping she'd treat us like a cherry lollipop.
fraying ,

I stitched up my wounds
rolled my tongue back up in my head
and pushed my werewolf bulged steam engine eyes back in
just to stand back in line;

a faulty rollercoaster ride
i'd gladly come unhinged
from the rails
upside down

in her gravities loops.