Stiletto Elegy

by on June 20, 2014 :: 0 comments

A tear abased, a finch dead mid-air, berated in haste
xxxis it too late?
xxxxxxis it too late, now that I wear black on black
no ink to scribble your name
in margins of a summer night’s air

a poet’s muse, love sprayed from one ounce flacons
in careful measures in open –air
a name half whispered half screamed
on lips bitten in crinkled dreams

vituperations on owl’s spit
tangential cloying fervor, credulous eyes
xxxbroken heels
xxxxxxbroken spirits in verbose lines

is it too late
to leave a sororal kiss
on throbbing pulse on your forehead
and rest barefoot
in midnight cello jazz jams

editors note:

No, not too late; so long as you keep your hands to yourself and your feet on the floor. – mh

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