Grace

Grace mouths a four letter word
and a slew of yeses hiss past her teeth;
this is the way you prefer to see her -

eyes closed, mouth open in some
sloppy drunk-on-love state,
with her heart coloring outside the lines of her face
and a curve to her spine as if
forming a bowl to say, "fill me."

And you try...
But how many coins does it take to fill
a wishful abyss?
"Penny for your thoughts," you jest
as you chuck another at her face...

Grace is beaten -
she smells of a whorish slot machine
and she is tired of playing
bloody knuckles with the walls.
But as you toss another coin in her direction
your loving jukebox decides she's graceful enough
for another song (and she always will
because she's Grace).