When Hell Freezes Over

“When Hell Freezes Over” He said, “One last kiss for my soul?” as he lay supine life spilling onto his Last Sunset Road. The sun had set long long ago. She lent down, whispered in his ear Cherry Ripe Red Lips her warm breath close and near, like a feather down his neck, “Wait, did you hear that? he said, I’ll bet my life on that.” She coos like a Dove. She stands. He is aware of his predicament, although at the time he had considered it the best of well "laid" plans. Over head, Poe’s bats like tiny sharp-fanged chirping pterodactyls flutter away in formations like her pistol grip, tight - he hears her laugh, The Black Swan. It is a Bill Henson blue mood moody night grey-green smoky mist in a midnight blue black billowing black pearl sky Moon the colour of hell fire, She throws him a kiss with a killer’s smile. Somewhere a feral cat screams in petulant heat, the rattlesnake hisses, it slides over his feet, leaving no tracks as the blistering bitumen sizzles he wipes his brow sanguine deus ex machina incomplete Somewhere the Lotus Eaters at Loon Junction are in a Casino dancing bare feet chewing the fat and playing Black Jack - His game was Russian Roulette He liked to drink his Wild Turkey Bourbon no ice neat. He looks up at her, long legs like a fan dancer at Flamingos straddle him, billowing skirt in the summer breeze, flirtatiously nude a Beige shade of satin flirts a glimpse of something sweet, her eyes flash like fast darts cold buttons over bullets that burn he can smell her perfume some kind of intoxicating chloroform, "Kalypso" it's called, while the knife heel of her sharp stiletto crushes on the glowing embers of his dying cigarette, a silent metronome in his addled mind counts idle moments, through lost time he reflects, if only they'd stopped for that coffee break at the Cross Road instead of taking that wrong turn where Crazy River meets Broken Neck. He said, “When Hell Freezes Over.” She said, “Baby, I’m the Snow Queen, don’t you know?” Kneeling before him, long fingers stroke his chin, trace the line of his lips, she draws him in, hot and slow, “Closer, come, take a look through my open windows”. (Something wicked this way comes, oh what a tangled web we weave). (LadyLabyrinth/2019) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xTOXHtlMKA0 Robbie Robertson, Crazy River https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bill_Henson http://tolarnogalleries.com/artists/bill-henson/