Description
- For Madame Revolver-
The doors swung wide and caught their breath,
The street went still, too close to death.
A corset laced in dusk and brass,
Stepped out like smoke through shattered glass.
Her gloves were off. Her eyes were war.
Not rage — just what she’d come here for.
No cloak, no plea, no gallows grace,
Just silence shaped into a face.
A dozen hands had twitched too soon,
Their shadows dancing past the noon.
But she stood centered in the heat,
A storm composed on pointed feet.
She wasn’t dressed to flee or ride,
But to be seen, then choose who died.
That lace was law. That hat, command.
Two holsters swayed like reprimand.
The left was Elegy, unread.
The right held Promise, cold as dread.
No warnings came, no final call —
Just measured stillness over all.
And in that hush, too sharp to fake,
The desert knew its soul could break.
She didn’t flinch. She didn’t sway.
And death knelt down to let her stay.