Men speak to them in the language of sweets
even their names,
sound like french delicacy
They drink from a flute of love-notes and make-believe
with a dash of sugar
and melancholy
An effervescent taste
is all it takes
for them to lose themselves
and lose track of time and space

They are the masters of treachery
ensnaring hearts of strangers
beguiling innocent minds
But mostly of all
deceiving themselves

They get drunk on the possibility
of escaping reality
perpetually

Alas,
it is inevitable
that the time will come
When reality will welcome them
with less than warm and welcoming arms

Nicotine filled lungs
Cherry stained lips
An ephemeral flame
if only they didn’t exist

Behind their dulcet tones
of eloquence and sweet-nothings
lies a heavier dread
that their saccharine smiles,
a dalliance of lies
attempt to dismiss

For it is only
behind this facade of
vacancy, vanity, and vacuous deception
That they can unwind and forget
even if its only
momentarily

For it is only then
when they
let slip their bitter past
forget about their pungent present
and masquerade for their tasteless future