Last Cigarette
light dripped
from the street lamp
like fluorescent dreams a-mist
fog wafting in wavy, buttery shards
her own private stage
lithe, leggy form and perky curves
fuchsia Claiborne mini-dress and black fishnets
one spaghetti strap dangling coyly
as if begging for a tug
one hand on the lamp post
the other at the end of an arm bent akimbo
five-inch silver patent leather pumps
shimmering like herring
a foot half-out of one
balanced just SO - suicidal and sexy
glossy plum lips
tenderly nipping a menthol Benson & Hedges
she didn't smoke, really
but loved to watch the shapes drifting
swirling and dancing with an antagonistic sensuality
but ... it was also the last, HIS last
and she wanted to watch it burn ... slowly
with the memory of his kiss
the sting of his backhand ...
and his damn abuse.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Brian's Choice T, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
|