The blonde sinks a grand yacht in Paris. With her voice as wide as two palms. Her body forged from wax. Wild from milk. Kills a lean pink lover. Then she dies back into a tree. Gown billowing in the places Apollo forgot. Unwilling mistress. Don’t miss it. Romance and intrigue in the intersections between lust. Crazed, colliding teeth, like deer scattering in waves. Deer white under the moth-light, seeing through the windshield’s bark. Car skidding toward oblivion. Pan through and back, the smoke clumping into butter-fire. Spit clack boom. Watch her half-body stumbling toward prayer. Bouncing dirty tank top. Hands drying hard and brown on the pavement. Eyes tied back and smiling. Watch her prayers made to kiss. A movie is never insincere.