Wasabi Kanastoga

I’ll take my femme fatale

heavy on the maquillage

with a side of magnetic eyelashes

and glitter.

I’ll take her with a penchant

for astrology and numerology

and a sprinkle of fairy dust

that turns her on.

With her 99 Cents Store hoop earrings

I’ll take her

and plastic flower bouquet

held tight against her breasts.

I’ll take my femme fatale

lonely within a crowd

scuffed heels

melting on asphalt.

Like a canticle

I’ll take her

an overdue confessional

windblown mandala

a black and white celluloid

B-movie reject

Hollywood’s could’ve been

should’ve been, never was.

With smeared eyeliner

and pencil-thin eyebrows

I’ll take her.

With her cheap

bob-cut synthetic wig

the color of wine

when doors no longer open

and the after you ma’ams

are no longer uttered

when the caress of her hands

no longer elicits

the once expected response

I’ll take her as is

fading or luminescent

heavy on the maquillage

with a side of magnetic eyelashes

and glitter.