I see only dark alleys
and hear dull talk,
Max said,
*** imbecillitate
corporis vita
as the Romans
might have said.
She has gone from me
and off to another;
flittering from man to man
like some butterfly,
flapping her wings,
her bright colourings,
le papillon
I named her.
Well named
the *****
Should have torn off
her wings when I
had her last.
Spread wings
and open arms.
La chienne.
She promised much
as they all do
while being filled
and her fruits adored.
Now I have only
her stale perfume.
Wounds where her
talons scratched.
But there was love once,
once upon a time
as tale tellers begin.
That time
in that Parisian
hotel room where
she undressed me
to the sound
of some French ****
(on the radio)
singing an aria
from La Boheme.
She so anxious for it
that she almost
began without me.
Time comes,
time goes.
I see only dark alleys
and hear dull talk.
I do remember
the mouthing
of her fruit,
the *******
of her toes.
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 7:26 AM UTC
I see only dark alleys
and hear dull talk,
Max said,
*** imbecillitate
corporis vita
as the Romans
might have said.
She has gone from me
and off to another;
flittering from man to man
like some butterfly,
flapping her wings,
her bright colourings,
le papillon
I named her.
Well named
the *****
Should have torn off
her wings when I
had her last.
Spread wings
and open arms.
La chienne.
She promised much
as they all do
while being filled
and her fruits adored.
Now I have only
her stale perfume.
Wounds where her
talons scratched.
But there was love once,
once upon a time
as tale tellers begin.
That time
in that Parisian
hotel room where
she undressed me
to the sound
of some French ****
(on the radio)
singing an aria
from La Boheme.
She so anxious for it
that she almost
began without me.
Time comes,
time goes.
I see only dark alleys
and hear dull talk.
I do remember
the mouthing
of her fruit,
the *******
of her toes.
