frictrice

My Babydoll used to be a rogue

called herself a gunslinger

called herself Queen Androgyne

she's died dyed dark dead

all lipstuck up and rouge 

pronounced the French way

learned to mock talk walk like a lady

learned to laugh like something's funny

My Babydoll used to be a rake

called herself a skirt-chaser

called herself gentler than a man

her toes bruised black and

she likes it, loves it, will do it again

for the way that it grows her 

gazellian limbs and kneads her 

ass into something fine

My Babydoll the neuromancer

now calls herself the romantic

now calls herself whole, soulmated, full

she's singing slizzer slurring calling
it devotion, fool for fatuous love
mixing up mania and admiration
she taught herself to stand upright
and look her infanta in the eye

My Babydoll wrapped in slacks, slick top hat 

taped her tits to her chest and passed

today she wears a different mask

she smiles with tiny pearls

gloss glided, plucked, primped

bones wrapped in a new soft, plump

knowing her infanta wouldn't sleep 

with my hand-me-down playthings

velvet, powder, silk, cream, lace,

she made herself a brand new face
mortar, plaster, tar, rust, lime

pretty things decay with time