I hope she knows who she is.
It was in Romania, this much I know;
Lens flare took her
Stretched taut, cross-continental sprawl
Whipped by saline drifts, the marks
Bleaching delusions, old dreams –
A book on a bedside curls.
Take that ankh, and keep it set
Between a clavicle that struck five chords
– an interjection, quizzical –
Straight up to the viewer – leave a comment
If you will, I’ll make your tongue