The Woman Below
The curtains pull in her scent as it lures me from my bed,
perched in my windowsill
curiosity embraces me on the edge...
What's her name?
The concrete has torn at her feet,
the sewers pull at her hem and the poison has worn out her teeth...
When she passes by I hear em' whisper, 'She belongs to the streets.'
Her song remains hidden with no need for her to speak
She peers over her shoulder with a reflection of me