The spark... The inspiration is a mystery woman.
The femme fatale.
She wants to be rescued.
She wants to conquer
and be conquered.
I don't look for her;
she finds me when she needs me.
She is the color of rain.
Her eyes are the eyes of every woman ever born
and that ever will be.
She sees when scars,
the eyelids of sleeping wounds,
are open and awake.
She never sleeps.
She dances barefoot on broken glass
from the mirror of dreams.
She burns white-hot in my mind.
She is a shape shifter.
She can take any form,
possess any body, any mind she likes.
She can gaze my way from any pair of eyes.
She is a friend, a lover, a predator, a succubus
all in one.
Make no mistake:
She is not what she pretends to be, the damsel in distress.
She is not the victim.