At her neck’s nape, the
red splotch still lurks, a
sunny chick’s fuzz covers the
scar of snarling angels, roaring,
refusing her newborn release.
“Angel bite!” I say and smile and
tug the pony’s tail until
my darling turns, lip curling strangely over still-pointed teeth – board bouncing, sparks soar and metal screams so loud I freak! Still her breasts
float like wings.