She looked like you,
shoulder length blonde hair.
Same sad blue eyes that
lit up when she smiled.

She commanded attention.
Queen of the hipsters.
Moved like air through lungs.
Where you have
leaves changing, from

green to red

falling from your arm into oblivion.

Her tattoo
is black and white. A
growling wolf head.
If I were to touch it,

I’m sure,

in place of skin

there would be steel wool.

I wonder
what she tastes like.
And if she could love me.
I know the answer though.