She is

the gun

at a 

knife fight.

Japanese

whiskey, on the

rocks,

with slices 

of ginger

and lime.

Your secret anime

hidden in

a history 

book,

Joan Jet and Joy Division,

colliding.

Soft doe eyes,

wearing 

a black leather harness

and stiletto

fuck-off boots.

She’s gentle

spring rain,

on a field

near Chernobyl.

She is

the mother of a Valkyrie,

the daughter 

of the Morrigan.

She’s an

exquisite rare orchid,

and a

pitbull

on a too 

tight leash.

So walk on

by,

unless you’re

ready,

to both live

and die

by the 

sword,

resting in her

delicate 

palm,

for there is

no other

or elsewhere,

only 

this.

~Lu