Your soul is rusted.
Red dust fills the crease by your brow.
Frantic and flaunting.
The Adam's apple bobs uselessly.
Joints collapsed and callused,
Faded from the focus.
You look in her eyes and put on the show.
Your words:
fangs hung deep in scar tissue.
You taunt the temptress.
Like dusty music to a corralled cobra.
This game will not last.
Put down your flute.
Enough with the games.
Haven't you heard?
She's leaving you.