smoke penetrating her bloodred mouth,
teeth dripping with steel
armor of iron, knuckles of smooth brass
don't you touch her; you'll implode -
between her lips she tastes of these things:
fire
spice
dust
bitterness
the cold battlefield.
she will ignite this hardened
universe
a supernova
and you cannot look away.
"grenade?" you ask.
she turns her head,
eyes twin abysses
"no. girl."