She was all legs and heart
as always
lithe limbs protruding
from the pumping pound of flesh
that most had taken for granted.
In the nocturnal stillness
of her bedroom
my eyes not yet adjusted
to the Darkness we could see
I swore her legs multiplied
turning herself into an octopus
that strove to entangle
my own throbbing mass
of ill-informed humanity.
A recent addition to her decor
caught my crux in a sling:
Creeping to her bathroom
a series of night lights
plugged into wall outlets
illuminated my path
all the way to the porcelain
detecting my motion
and aiding the steps--
But it wasn't that simple;
We'd been there before.
Sure like virgin snow
and twice as deadly
my love is twisted poison
like the Snake that fed her fruit.
Currently reading:
"On Cats" by Charles Bukowski.
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