She wears red, a match waiting
for the right kindling to turn
a cold room into a bonfire of heathens.
for the right kindling to turn
a cold room into a bonfire of heathens.
A wink, a blush, plump lips walking
the fine line between the blank spaces
of a hell fire sermon, she is the Jezebel
the pious curse, and the bold wanton
they never take to confession.
With splashes of jasmine holy water
she baptizes those strong enough
to relish their weakness, and teases
eyes to admit their obsession with curves.
While the choir sings blindly of light
they can’t feel, she collects the tarnished
notes of their hypocrisy, and rewrites
the blood song into Eve’s freedom from Eden.
©Susie Clevenger 2022
