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Dances its weary tune
poetry [ ]

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by [Alisdaire ]

2005-05-06  |     | 



The noon day sun breaks the room
little splinters of yesterdays perfection
glares across the walls
seeing the reflection of the promises
of last nights tequila, up turned bottle
Hugs the corner pocket of the room.

She still snoring
mouth gapping like a jug waiting to be filled
he looks a while at her perfumed body
wondering what the hell had crossed his mind
and laid his dreams of the night unraveled
Shakes her
Awakening the pain that shrivels up her brain.

She stretches and yawns
her naked form again arousing the untold story
that was again the night before
He drowns her upon his fumed breath
and takes her down memories stroll
gathered there the day wears it fragrance
where sex sells itself upon the air
And dances its weary tune.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph


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