she is attired
in colors of glee
that lift the spirits
so mirthfully
she is the perfumery
of a Parisian park
her florid air
makes for the tones
of a singing lark
tis a pleasantry
to have her
company

Her nickname
Was always
Gaia with a y.

And she was.
Dancing; not so much
Reasoning.

All feeling. Analysis,
Not so much.
Me, a petard of adrenaline and

Testosterone -short fused with
Whisky and blunt logics- by
Which I found myself

Hoist with ruthless regret.  
All man.
All human

Man.
We merged until we
Emerged, passing through

Each other and moving
On. Two forces of nature
Embracing.

With a broad
Enough
Perspective,

Everything
Looks
Beautiful.

I now know
Why little girls crying
Into teddies say they're
Dying.
Now I know that none of
My songs of heart-

Break were real. I had
No idea.
None.

It's like holding your breath
When you know that that car is
Not going to
Stop.

It's the chill down your neck when
You learn that somebody
Just like you
Passed away. Suddenly.

It's the feeling of knowing you're
Losing your grip on the roof of
A burning
Skyscraper. Air.

A soldier, a landmine.
Looking down to see
That your body
Is broken.
Broken.

I now know why country music
Is so close to God at all times.
Why amputees grieve over
Lost limbs.
Why girls cry and boys drink.

It's going to bed, certain that  
The sun will not
Rise in the morning.

And so it begins, this tale of woe,
As a howling wind began to blow.
She brushed her hair one last time,
And set about her perfect crime.

Anticipating the sound of key in lock.
She glanced herself whilst taking stock.
She could not help but stop and admire,
Her provocative sensual ****** attire.

Black matching lace expensive Lingerie,
Purchased especially from town that day.
She carefully rolled her stockings on.
Any sense of guilt had all but gone.

Placing her feet in her killer red heels.
Reminiscing how he liked how they feel.
Consoling herself as the widow Ms Carter,
As she hid the capsule in her French garter

In the kitchen now the lights are dim,
And the candles flicker, flicker for him.
She hears the sound of his key in the door,
As she prepares the meal, a meal to die for.

The memories,
Those awful dark times
Will always play.
But this is my prize.
I simply cannot throw it away.
As I glance at it, the pain cuts through me
The hurt washes over me .
Drowning. Suffocating.
I hold it in my palm,
Twiddle it around loosely between my fingers
Flashbacks. Nightmares. Distorted images and figures -
Like a film playing in my mind
Throw it!
No, keep it!
It's yours.
That smooth silver-grey 2 inches of metal
Cool to the touch.
It was your friend. It was your enemy.
It's your pride and your glory.


**© maria.who

(Comment below please)