Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
Harpy
I liked her fishnet stockings
And the tender way she applied
Her red, red lipstick.
Her elegance invisible,
She would drunkenly slur
Seduction while stumbling
On too high heels.
She was no one's mother,
No one's sister or daughter.
Her curves were soft; her
Grace was sharp as knives.
No comfort in those eyes,
A strength that only booze
Could create.
With her long, long legs and
Her red, red lips, she'd stagger
Her way into the more beautiful
Parts of your memory.
May 27 2010
And the tender way she applied
Her red, red lipstick.
Her elegance invisible,
She would drunkenly slur
Seduction while stumbling
On too high heels.
She was no one's mother,
No one's sister or daughter.
Her curves were soft; her
Grace was sharp as knives.
No comfort in those eyes,
A strength that only booze
Could create.
With her long, long legs and
Her red, red lips, she'd stagger
Her way into the more beautiful
Parts of your memory.
May 27 2010
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Harpy
Harpy
