memories like swarming
bats
fill her head as on her
knees
she performs the
ritual.
it’s cold in the
alleyway
but she’s used to
that.
she sighs,
like a nun
waiting for
death,
as he unzips his
relic
and holds her
face,
expressionless as
candle-wax.
as he fills her
mouth
with warm flesh
the memories return;
the black wings won’t leave
her.
as he finishes off
she holds out her palm for
cash,
as with the other hand
she wipes her
lips.