her dark eye deflected
the fan ceases it mechanical blur
slowly grinding to a halt
and the air of the room breaths of its own
it breaths her day old sweat that is deeply ****** and
it defiles you as you slake your thirst with its filthy thought feel
remembering how she tasted as you had her the night before
but the room is oil and burnt tastes
old fires of longing never capitulated
her sweat is cold as she shuts her legs this time
denied a second adventure into her tangled eyes
you pick a spot of carpet and wait

as she sits by the silent sealed window
watching the rain engulfed street
for signatures of approaching quick footsteps
lover who bears with them the tightly wrapped balloons
she waits with a spoon gripped with brutal tightness in one hand

her lips twitch over unspoken phrases
but some linger loud enough
to endure the air and your ear catches them
darkness is a dead souls delight
she has carried the corpses of both
her soul and conscience for years
she revels in their decaying weight
she bemoans their dead hand cold fingers
on her purse strings
you can perceive them sitting by her side
grinning with absent humours

her fingers tapping the frail glass of the window
one is compelled to wonder but fails to ask aloud
when at long last he returns breathlessly
bearing the seeds of her bitter contempts
she dives into the mixing and measuring
with skill and ****** devotions
you leave them to the whisper game
peek peek shuffle shuffle

leave her with a gentle kiss placed with care
on her bitter lips
and as you say your long goodbye
you reach up and button her shirt
hiding her exposed breast
she laughs brushing off attempts to cure her
of deviant behaviours
she is a watercolour study of rain
its mood and substance are flowing vagueness
the statement of grey in all forms of her existence