Laughing, he bent towards her,
a daisy in each eye,
a swinging door reflected on each tooth.
She gripped her arms with fleshy claws
that neither cut nor comforted,
She reared, bucked,
a horse too smart to shiver its mane,
and he stuck a hand out like
a lizard’s tongue, tasting the air.
‘That’s it’, he sang,
his voice burnt sugar.
She took a breath,
its whistle echoing in her ears,
doors slamming one after another.
He laughed, his head thrown back
like a garbage chute.
She howled like a pissed-off wolf.
Valentina Cano is a student of classical singing who spends whatever free time she has either reading or writing. Her work has appeared in Exercise Bowler, Blinking Cursor, Theory Train, Magnolia’s Press, Cartier Street Press, Berg Gasse 19, Precious Metals and will appear in the upcoming editions of A Handful of Dust, The Scarlet Sound, The Adroit Journal, Perceptions Literary Magazine, Welcome to Wherever, Death Rattle, and Perhaps I’m Wrong About the World. You can find her here: http://coldbloodedlives.blogspot.com