Your hips rattle the windows,
saturated bruises kiss the glass,
trim the dots–
the citrus auras
of Smallpox from your flaps–
catered to savory Caedri sinners,
give the bats a new itch.
The harpies model for the gargoyles,
a new era
of flappers laced with zombie thighs and skins–
born for dark cabaret.
Sucretia blushes bits of skeleton,
her bones etched in ivory–
parts ways with whispers–
the soft, undead dynamic.