He's arsenic cured leather
her sweet Retreat.
She's sweet green-eyed Absinthe
sitting across from him legs tucked
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
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
yet she'll come come back for more of
him again and again...
oh, but until then,
one more little dirty helping,
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
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
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
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.
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