IN NEON

 

 In Neon

She’s sixteen, a wildfire with a forged ID,

Slung in a duffel, her dreams drip like wax.

The bus growls through velvet dusk, city spires

Jabbing the sky, their glow a jagged pact.  

Asphalt hums, a serpent’s electric hiss,

Men prowl like wolves, eyes glinting with greed.

Her veins thrum, a river breaking its chrysalis,

Swept in the churn of life’s relentless need.  

I don’t pine for her spark in that fevered sprawl,

Nor the city’s lure through windows veined with rust.

Its skyline purrs, a panther poised to maul—

Leap, girl, spin the stars, scatter your trust.  

She tests ballet, but her soles scorn the silk,

Stilettos teeter like lies she won’t wear.

Deep in her core, a pulse ticks like spilt milk,

Twin fates coiled tight in a crimson lair.  

Love crashes in—tangled, salt-sweet, ablaze,

Each soul a prism, each kiss a jagged shard.

She craves the world’s pulse, its raw, fleeting craze,

Her body a lodestar, fierce and unbarred.  

Yet the city molts—murals bleed to ash,

Diners crumble to chrome and mirrored glare.

She dreams of a meadow where wildroots clash,

To sow a green hymn beneath heaven’s stare.  

So she’ll fling a kiss to the city’s molten heart,

Pivot to the moon, its silver veins alive.

Drunk on its glow, she’ll weave a celestial art,

Dancing with comets where her spirit thrives.  

No, I don’t covet her dance in that searing maze,

Nor the city’s croon through glass laced with grime.

Its embers still call, a dare in the haze—

Roll the stars, love, and seize the untamed chime.