michelle murillo

He didn’t know your favorite color was red, war branded on skin.

Your hair heavy saturation, strawberry fields.

Pastoral painted in your hues.

Fireworks engraved on the left side of your body,

neapolitan ice cream.

Do you hear them boom at night when everything is silent?

Do you trace them with your finger and feel their heat after getting high?

Valkyrie battle scars, he didn’t know you loved the flames but threw you in anyways.

Did you see palm trees when you rose from ash? Or fluorescent lights?

Charcoal muscle, an ancient spirit held within,

blood worn on arms a victory souvenir.

Acid wash your acid skin, femme fatale or fatally female.