We are tattooed mysteries,
standing on the edge of town in denim and leather.
Patches of truth paint our arms;
Morning adventures of friendship and silent judgment.
More interested in flowers than foes.
Cast not to me your own fears,
for I am with the fighter,
the finisher, the one that gets away.
We are armed with silent knives,
accustomed to defense and hellfire.
Invisible plans lay out before our feet,
outlining the paths of destiny for us to ignore.
We are pirate queens of lost river lilies.
Wine stains on maps in volcanic cabins dusted in gold
from heavenly conquests.
Angel fire is in our blood,
it spills out to the enemies in our way.
Motorcycles shift through the lamplight streets
in wisps like memories.
Mountain climbers and free divers,
adventure calls our names.
Dancing with bulls takes our courage to a new height.
Our parents cry as we send off our hopes to danger,
tasting the coffee laden lies of men like poison,
knowing the truth of life.

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