Whore

Poetry

 

Clock app, I chime well.

The sheets are slithery crevices

Satin-lined, with serpent poised to strike,

It is a meeting of the soul,

 

A shaft of light

Through cathedrals of stained glass.

Where you are safe,

There are no family heirlooms,

 

No dinner on the table, no lies.

Suave virile hips, the smirk of men

Glaze at her smoke

And I, in my honeyed plume,

 

Milk a gallon of amphibian seed.

To release

The roar of angst I swallow toads ~

Meat and three vege, a staple,

 

The ‘Elixir of Life’.

My mouth gags,

The mouth of Mary

When my accelerator touches the pan.

 

The giggle of my

Plastic features, my way of arching

John’s to rigors of trapeze

Lays on the charm, a gasp.

 

And it goes on and on, and on.

I shall remain a nymph. Old muscles

Strain like a bough and I

Blush like Betty Boop

 

Satisfied,

All the sighs of winter, fall

Offering up last seasons rosella

Tea to read.

 

 

© Copyright 2019, Jezabel Jodine. ‘escortjezabel.com’. All Rights Reserved