Upon approach, one notices smoking
volcanic ash. In thin snaking columns,
white heat rears itself up from the surface
of her skin, taut with yellow-greenish tint.

A rumbling emanates from her belly
and signals an imminent explosion.
Intuition says, “Run! Now…” but you stay,
thinking yourself to be invincible.

     And she smiles then at your naiveté.

Before you blink, pyroplastic blast and
shooting profanity flows forth like hot
lava oozing, building, bulging, dripping
down – contaminated river of hate.

The stench of a thousand collected wrongs
simmers in stew of molten memory.
Ground of being cracks beneath the pressure.
A state of decomposition prevails.

     She looks on, unaware of her poison.

Into divided self rancid rage creeps,
solidifies to stony indifference.
Love disintegrates like ash upon wind
which never can decide which way to blow.