don't take her home

she had a shady
past.
an emerald ring
on her little
toe.
a small tattoo
of a bleeding
rose
on her breast.
she sighed
alot,
and looked
off into the distance
as if
waiting for
a ship arrive,
to come sailing
over
the horizon.
she might have been
indian,
or mexican,
or from the middle
east, who knows
for sure, but
she had an incurable
disease
and a habit
of twrirling
her hair
and calling
you chief.
it was just a week,
but she
made a lasting
impression.
you still have
the scar on your
shoulder
where she
bit you one
night in
the heat of passion.
it was only
a week, but
it seemed longer,
alot longer.