Her moniker was Cherry Lemonade
And everyone circled her orbit.
She entered a room and it was instantly animated
The women her sisters,
The men, her mannequins.
She used them like chess pieces
Setting up the game how she wished to play it
A sultry scenario of sins
That only Johnny-Too-Good could shy away from,
Walking from the shadows, feeling oh too bad.
Years later the paper held a photo
A sepia reminder of halcyon days
– Cherry Lemonade in all her finery.
Seems she met her end in a darkened alleyway,
The negative of her Hollywood scene.
She staggered, they say,
A single line of crimson gracing her slender neck,
A cherry blossom tree, felled.
I wept for her as I would for my youth.