My love dressed as a witch
And she was beautiful.
Her smile gave me a crazy itch,
And the moon was full.
My love dressed as a black cat
And she was beautiful.
Her smile—could I resist that?
And the moon was full.
My love dressed as an old house
And she was beautiful.
I went inside her house
And the moon was full.
I looked inside every room
And they were beautiful.
Her pillow wore a look of gloom
And the moon was full.
I lay in bed and called to her,
“Come to me, beautiful!”
Her bed was made of gold and fur
And the moon was full.
And what had I been wearing?
A simple, ebon gown.
And she covered me in kisses
As the moon went down.
marcusbales said,
October 17, 2012 at 10:34 am
Vamp
She takes her tiny tasting sip
Then briefly shows a pointed tip
Of tongue to wet her upper lip;
A second sip. A third.
She knows where every wound has been
And shivers delicately then
Just barely in control again
She seems less quenched than stirred,
And then she smiles a sunspot flare
That burns until the world out there
Seems dimly lit in dirty air,
Its colors dull and flat.
I hear my blood, my skin gets tight,
My toes go numb, my head gets light
And dark spots dance across my sight
Whenever she smiles like that.
I know by now I won’t resist
Her flashing smile – that little twist
That tells me she is sure I’ve missed
What she can clearly see.
Whatever I may have she takes
And fingers it until it breaks –
And I can’t say why that still makes
No difference to me.
noochinator said,
October 17, 2012 at 2:03 pm
Bonnie, Theda, Sadie
Could make a man psychotic;
Or so claims Cheryl Sarkisian
(Forgive my being demotic):
mpv.muthu said,
October 20, 2012 at 5:44 am
Excellent and Enjoyable poem. Thanks
mpv.muthu