High-Flying
High-Flying
by James Dorr
Be-bop baby, she
slides to the brasses’ strain,
red gown too-tight
clinging,
taut-fleshed legs dancing.
She smiles, dark eyes flashing,
teeth white, laughing in the night,
moonlight enhancing pale
skin in the shadows.
She smiles, she entices
collecting her trophies,
in flight she, an aeronaut,
lifts her prey with her,
in ecstasy rising.
In blood-crimson crashing.