her subtleties and jewels are billboarded for the drawing of crowds but the faces sketched by the grease lights are not the kind that such an exquisite artwork of womanhood like her should bring out on such a soft spring night so they fold her up and pack her away careful not to crease her fine linen soul and place her neatly away in her cedar chest knowing i will sneak her out later for wine and ballroom dancing bring her back to the circus of the obscene just as dawn creeps into the cool crisp sky
a single tear in her eye for her lost teenage years when she only wanted to rebel a bit but spent the time posed neatly like a porcelain doll she was a lifesize lovesick reproduction in technicolour of herself all thouse years ago better to have gone away better to have been a roadside companion of the weary walkers than grown old as one of the window decorations of the world shes there now in the sun faded backdrop to the shopping season but ill rescue her someday well live in somerset and sell glass trinkets
her introspection is the short film version but her poems are the epic novels of such sweet romance it sways the most hardened to the tender embrace to the love of soul to soul kisses
she weaves such a tender tale but her nights are spent alone watching a winter moon cross the summer sky her hand aching for the hand that once held it aching for the love that abandon her to this fate i hope someday to fill that void in her world wedged between the cardboard cowboy's forever smile and the caped crusader sleeping off his drinking binge
hodgepodge...that's it...hodgepodge! that's the name for my next cat...hodgepodge!