Lipstick stains on a collar,
Wine stains on her Sunday best,
They teach it’s the blood of her Lord
So she counts herself as blessed.

Her cherry cheeks and bloody bruises
Can’t keep secrets very well.
One lingering look, one poke
And they’ll tell and show and tell.

A brick flew through her window,
A rose attached with ribbon.
Violent, but passionate
So she counts herself forgiven.

She takes the ribbon, ties her
Hair, and dresses to disguise
The crimson fantasies

Hidden just behind her eyes.



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