Author: FailedWritersCraft PM
A dead mans romance with his memory of a prostitute.Rated: Fiction T - English - Poetry/Romance - Words: 272 - Published: 02-18-13 - Status: Complete - id: 3102000
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
The street sluts lingerie laces looped cross-wise around her flesh.
And peeking through thin slits her pale but perfect skin glowed bright.
Slashed on to her body like zebra stripes: a tight sewn web of mesh.
Making her beauty of a supernatural type: a figure of only the light.
An industrial landscape chugged its toxic smoke around her.
Pollutants dared not to choke her precious lungs,
Swelling with her chest bound in a corset of the softest fibre.
It's a wonder any man resisted how she succumbs.
The way she melts the metropolitan scenery.
As if all of Natures bounty were pathetic in comparison.
(It can tear the heart until there's bleeding.)
And her face bore the inflection of the tenderest person.
She tilted her head back and let her long dark hair hang low.
Two frail eyes gleamed the sign that her intelligence knows.
Understands everything: from the secret of why things grow.
To the reason behind death. And why all things must eventually go.
At some time or another you've witnessed that very miracle.
Perhaps you didn't see it because it wasn't recognizable.
But I tell this with honesty, and the depths of knowledge I hold:
Love is a flowing river which through rushing rapids unfolds.
Just once did that strange woman frighten me.
The terror's over now. My soul is hollowed out.
Like a bottle floating on the surface of the sea.
Her wonder filled the glass capacity with oceans of doubt.
How can creatures of that magnitude simply wander about?
Like loaded guns ready to blow any ones heart right out.