The air held her,

arms high

hands wrapped

through long tendrils

a flashbulb pattern

burnt in her skin

tattooed in a silhouette

wrapt in ink

that steeped too deep

in film that formed

before for my eyes.

 

Rush into a web

of blood in the din

caught in the light

creased between

flashes of flesh

and in the dim

capture of bulbs.

 

Fresh-flushed

spun into a flood

milked white

in her motion

and broadcast

from shutter to shudder.

 

Flashed dance

cashed into credit

milked from red carpet spills

the night begs again,

entertained

and ready to begin.

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