*So where does she go when
she's been fingered and drugged,
abused and sexed up?
That's right, the end of the bar
where they'll never find her,
let alone kiss her.*
Tucked behind her right ear,
blonde hair fell as if a tear
from cheek to chin,
bowling ball to bowling pin;
stacked at the other end.
This poem is for you long-blonde-hair-behind-the-bar-girl, written down by paper and pen.
Your quilted jacket,
leather in material,
won't keep the cold out;
only a white-stick-arm
will warm, guide and
ignite you home.
Fill the wardrobes back up again
with hangers plucked and picked from the
carpeted floor.
Lay the lover down amongst the sheets
only the whisper sweet thoughts and memos and
kind words in low tones
into her ear.
Kiss her neck and grace the thigh,
build
up
the
courage
to
last
all
night.
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 4:59 PM UTC
*So where does she go when
she's been fingered and drugged,
abused and sexed up?
That's right, the end of the bar
where they'll never find her,
let alone kiss her.*
Tucked behind her right ear,
blonde hair fell as if a tear
from cheek to chin,
bowling ball to bowling pin;
stacked at the other end.
This poem is for you long-blonde-hair-behind-the-bar-girl, written down by paper and pen.
Your quilted jacket,
leather in material,
won't keep the cold out;
only a white-stick-arm
will warm, guide and
ignite you home.
Fill the wardrobes back up again
with hangers plucked and picked from the
carpeted floor.
Lay the lover down amongst the sheets
only the whisper sweet thoughts and memos and
kind words in low tones
into her ear.
Kiss her neck and grace the thigh,
build
up
the
courage
to
last
all
night.
www.coffeeshoppoems.com
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