The bad

taste

lingers in

my

mouth,


like a

wide mouth

kiss of

an old woman

who has

smoked

the last

25 years

of her life

.
ash and

burnt offerings.


the fruit

of her

soul is

gone,


running

down the

drain of

forever,


like a

runaway

cat


dodging cars

on an open

four-lane

highway.


and no one

is to blame

but me


and my

hopeless

romantic

love of

words

in

search of

a place

to call

home.


for a moment

I thought

It was in

your brown

calico eyes,


but then

the disappointment

of your

big breasted

smile,


simply rotted


and fell

away to

ash and
burnt
offerings,

leaving

nothing


I will

ever think


about again.