Green can’t fade the blue, 1/2 the world from Red. The bottomless and dark.
Too tame, too warm. Tepid. Tropical.
Music and volume immaterial.
She can move her hips, tango or slam. No stranger to a mosh pit.
Pacifists needn’t apply, claims Venice Shoreline
Travel north, beautiful baby to the left, a moon mirror.
Still angry, thrashing. A shining, slashing knife, a breath thief.