Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

Description:  An attractive woman struggles with destiny.

It's four am; you are still staring at the crucifix on the grey wall, and the glaring 
darkness hurts your sad, brown eyes.  The color purple replaces sparkle who 
abandons because all must live and die, and morning becomes even more 
arrogant when her arms reveal the hairs masquerading as butterscotch ~ so 
warm and erotic, in all their

narcissism.

The salon becomes your most intimate lover because he satisfies...

momentarily.

Another drink doesn't help you need him less, and the tears you taste fail to 
comfort; the sea witch devours in a mere swallow.  Your own walls are peculiar, 
and ghosts become your only friends, while destiny, in her tunnel vision, 
becomes so frightening because she knows

that the portrait has already been painted...

a beautiful...

relic.

You prefer alone to lurking in the second chamber because you were always the 
best.

Regret is cunning, and oh ~ so snide;  stale blood on your spine is obscured by 
fresh because some wounds...

never heal.

You ache.

You desire.

Release.

But vanity is too possessive a lover.

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