in packard skin

 

in packard skin reflected
mirrored in the sheen,
alone with only the desert
desolation filled her eyes,
taking gold braid lasso
began to be fluid
with rope,
legs damp under nylon cover
breasts swelled in warm lace,
remembering that match box town
that ignited under her touch,
dust rose,
she had claimed the sun
heat closed about skin,
a game without kisses
and dead flower grief,
heaven would know
of her crimes
the dead that where still afraid,
in a packard skin reflected
spice tainted tongue
needed moisture,
as lasso swirled in frenzy,
acrid fragrance of death
chose to pursue
waiting and smiling,
mushroom column
elevated behind her
it to
reflected in a packard skin

ballad of a stripper and a bookkeeper

he shot a hobo

alas a hobo

my lover shot a hobo

it was love , so love

i was the most insane stripper

lost on a winters eve

he was a bookkeeper with a gun

we wanted to run together

passion and breast in flames

he tried so much to please

with bunched up bloody nose

another fight over me

he started to kill

for pleasure that winters eve

police would call

and i would deny

through a packards windshield

his face a policeman saw

once run down

no going back

mexico and jazz

we where on the run

but my passion waned

with his bloodstained hands

and made a call

to a deputy

our villa surrounded

he felt betrayed

as to the chair

he fried

my lover alas my lover

who shot a hobo

and broke my heart

dVersePoets