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He's arsenic cured leather
her sweet Retreat. She's sweet green-eyed Absinthe sitting across from him legs tucked underneath, perched on her sugar cube. They've been stuck together, almost like forever, just like two rock n' roll black-eyed, ring-tailed raccoon paper dolls. they're on a downtown trip not fantastic singing the words to the same sad homily a grating gothic refrain: "after you've gone, baby,- I'm gonna slit my wrists and bathe in the blood of your poison..." yet she'll come come back for more of him again and again... oh, but until then, one more little dirty helping, please. so here they come no, one, by one long black mascara-stained tears that don't match her half-crooked sneer but he doesn't catch the clues on her faces even though they're bubbling trouble for all to see yet he'll never catch on how he's been so blind, caught inside her beauty for way too long. she's a fine feminine feline with sharpened claws and teeth and she's been working long and hard on him...and the dawn of it is just beginning to rise on him.... the shadow of his awareness like a phantom as it creeps he picks up on her voodoo energy and soon he's picking at the packet of his Marlboro's, he's flicking nervously on the edge of the bitten fingernails. he's thinking about their last night together, her sweet cherry- taffy kiss, the fun in it and the pull of her kind of witchy-ness there's moon-madness in his heart and he can't escape its bony reach... the drawl, the touch of his sweet overripe southern peach, green-eyed Absinthe. (Oh,how can he retreat...) and, she's eyeing him like the cat she is with he mouse a-dangling before her. they've been here before, anyone can tell. they're a bad habit, a black magic spell that can't be unbroken. and they're a revolving door to the nutcracker inn and the long dark hall to hell. but he's as hooked as a he can be on his little sugar cube, this little southern woman. She's his tasty Absinthe. And he's forever in her sights. the both of them are obsessed day and night. He's her never ending chase and anxious Retreat. Copyright October 11 2014....All Rights Are Reserved By This Author All Ideas/Poetry/Rants/Prose Are the Legal Property of this Writer I am writing this poem for a friend to hopefully turn into a song ---lots of editing left to do...written directly to the page. Meloo/Melissa A Howells/straight from her Tilt-a-World More editing done on October 12, 2014 he can whittle it down into a song...for now I am working on the feel, the essence. Vote for this poem |
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