with the sinuous grace of bacon frying
erratic and seeming to shrink as the music sizzles a back drop
like a panther on a tree limb
subtle and sleek and looking like nature’s perfection
with the over exaggerated style of a drunken monk
seemingly stumbling but every shift in weight is calculated
back and forth in time in stilettos that seem precariously high
her calves solid and her rippling thighs enough to make men jump in front of a speeding bus to catch another glimpse
her shoulders back
breasts defying gravity as they bounce to bass even as she stands still
she moves like heartache at forty five revolutions per minute
love me
like being stabbed in the chest with an icicle
leaving no trace of a crime committed
she needs to move on
out of my head though
away from this static inducing need
there is a time when put up or shut up is a necessity
and now is then
long past then if i’m being honest
and honest is all i can be when it comes to her
this wreckless muse that awakens something in my center and makes me want to scream from the rooftops that she is my everything
she doesn’t know my name
i’ve memorized every curve of her
pencilled in imperfections in the hopes she becomes lesser somehow
and she only becomes more
i would crawl across barbed wire into a river of piranhas if it got me nearer to her
it won’t
i’m just a vague someone in a sea of adoring fans
another voice in the chorus
she has enough fawning fanatics seeking more than the pieces she deigns to share
her every word feels designed to intoxicate me
calls out and makes me want more
but they aren’t for me
if i’ve learned anything in the world of poetic injustice it is that
ladies will have an ocean of fans waiting with bated breath for every line they write
doesn’t matter if it is brilliant or trash
the teeming hordes of horny men will flock in hopes that for once a real girl will speak to them
it’s even worse if they have talent
can shear your soul into a billion tiny pieces with every masterful piece they write
she moves like every eye is on her
and they should be
she damn well deserves it
she writes like the devil and it makes my inner demon howl
she looks like an angel and the demon howls louder still
but i’m as real to her
as she is to the world
just another clumsy metaphor from the mind of the poet illterate
the fool that wishes he were more
that she would move closer and closer
smell the wildflowers in her hair
see the devil in her eyes
i might not be amazing
but i could love her like no other
as she moves away
