The evaporating aroma
of roasted coffee
spread between her red lips.
The enhanced eyelashes
accentuated her contacted
blue eyes.
Her long and curly hair
hung on her bare shoulders.
It was real and undisturbed.
A modern Helen of Troy
many claimed.
She with her air of a Goddess
prowled the streets with her
high heels and polished nails.
She ruled from her
queen-sized throne.
Fierce and wild she
took men and women
to the realm of ecstasy.
Her arched back and small breasts
covered in the melting of the bodies.
She was a good schoolgirl,
a nun,
a Mom.
Anything her victims wanted.
She was a fair queen.
Dishearten queens tried
to assault her realm.
She knocked them out
with her iron fist
that broke noses.
She was the only queen
this realm needed.
She was once
mortal.
That had a loving mother
that made cookies during the
long and dark winter nights.
During the day she built snow castles
and made snow angels with
her faithful companion Mr. Spot.
Mr. Spot and her mother
went to the kingdom of the Reaper.
Alone she cried silently on the dark corridors
at the Angel Island House for Children.
Rusty swings creaked on the dark
and old chains dragged on and on.
The caretakers came,
they came.
Nuns with fermented breath
groped her in the damped darkness.
Life is beautiful
Once she read on an old book,
she laughed and tears rolled down
her purpled eyes.
Another cafeteria fight,
one more and she was going to be
free.
Jail was a possibility then for our queen.
It was worst.
The Streets and the Johns
welcomed her with opened arms.
And the pimps
laid for our queen
the green and white powdered carpet
the royal treatment.
Now she lies
in her burial chamber
fitting to her status as the queen
running sewers and rats
guard her.
