it is a strange mercy, she thought,
         to wander the streets that st. vincent walked
            only the devil wore prada, that’s what they said
   she mused over borrowing them for the evening

         the docks never stood still,
    though tonight they were empty
            climbing the ship containers stacked like a rubix cube
         nestled against the pylons of the pier
            it was too quiet to be alone

        but speak the name and he shall appear,
                  a pair of long legs entwined beside her
           arms around her waist
you never call anymore;

  a companionable silence, the most wicked of sinners
       but by who’s word?
           perhaps they weren’t the lies,
        a convenient truth that made others shy
                      let them waste away, they could wait –

     rippled waters reflected in her eyes,
         a dead rat suddenly hurrying across the water-logged wood
              wondering who restarted its heart
           the legs snickered, batting its eyelashes at her

a parlour trick for me?
                 but she knew not to kiss and tell –
             the priests would die of shame if they saw her now
                but they were long past her guardianship

       with moon rise came star set,
            and between quiet companionship and heady intimacy
         the limpid glow from the sky was just enough to see
                  the way her mouth shaped around her thumb

Prompt: Tranquil