Traces of beauty
still linger
on her sullen face.
I am told,
those malachite eyes
& high cheekbones
one mesmerized
all the men.
But now, nicotine
stains her fingertips
& Jim Beam
is her constant friend.
I wished I had known her
in a previous life,
before cigarettes
& bottled-boys
took her down.

Are you there
Miss Clairvoyance?

I feel your electrifying hands
reaching out to touch me,
to soothe me into submission.

I feel your weight
pressing down on me,
holding me tightly
with your finery.

I am breathless,
your sensuous conduit,
lost in a world
of extra sensory
perceptions,
feeling your
spasmodic-ripples,
inhaling your spirit.

And who will be there
for you
when all the rich
handsome
soothsayers
leave with all their
******* & lies?
Ugly me &
I have
no fortune.

I found my past,
Behind an old cardboard box,
Covered with webs,
And centuries of dust.
A rusty key for a door,
That’s long since forgotten.
A fading photograph of a,
Distant relative lost after a war.
A yellowing newspaper,
Revealing a family torn in two.
A crumpled love letter,
Stained by tears and coffee,
It spoke to me of things.
That root me to floor.

©  Nick Strong 2014