awkward girls delivering their spoken thoughts
like hand written love notes
perfumed hopes cherished brightly
one of a hundred that stand at the edge of reality
and in the near perfect unison of dropping lovely invitations
to the magazine advertisements man who is supposed to
sweep them off their feet
the manly man who has button down eyes
and a wrinkle-free shirt
to him ***'s butter is romance

her temperature dog
haunts her lonely steps
with a eager wag of his ratty tail
his pleasant eye wagers that she will return him for the deposit someday
its for the girl who has everything and a box of candy too
its not in what you have but its measured by how much you reject
***'s butter tastes salty sweet
she has a sidewinder viper gently cradled in her arms
calls it the child of her destiny

***'s butter is her bed and breakfast
an empty conversation
like a small hole in my mind
spilling its useless phrases to be swallowed whole
in the tepid sea of her eye
her hollow laughter two tables away
suddenly as it comes it limply dies away

alarmist by nature
she crafts a tale of woe
to suit her mind
but that tale is an empty eyed charter boat fish
that lay barren and objectified on her dinner plate
basted in ***'s butter with a twelve inch whip...