The band avoided her thin fingers. As if the rose gold couldn’t bear the touch of her thin flesh and brittle bone,  sliding from raw knuckle to raw knuckle. But it was her skin rolling  over a gemmed belly chain  that was stuck in her thoughts. Stuck like her bubble gum bursting 3 meals a day as her insides begged. Begging, as she did, for someone  to kiss away the corners of her mind. But that was she. And she is clouded in sunset smoke when I try to recall.  I recall when she pirouetted in a tiny tutu and scraped her dusty blush chalk across the sun-kissed sidewalk but I pray to never know her again.