with a thought she moves a strand of hair

with a thought she moves a strand of hair
to move you she becomes a goddess
biting her lip
you think you want her
but you don’t
you really don’t
she is Promethea to another man’s paint set
she stands tall under his stars
her home is there
under his wild sky
black and purple
midnight blue-
these are the colors painted in her mind

the hues that keep her intoxicated

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