To Have and Have Not
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Late the music played in the smoky air
in our noir Bogey and Bacall vignette,
and hands that brushed your dark cinnamon hair
held a glass of Red and a cigarette.
Your skin smelt of aloes and ambergris,
soft rubicund lips shone like hot baked coals;
and what covet it was those lips to kiss,
to feel and touch the flesh and depth of souls.
I saw I was a moth unto her flame,
that one day perchance she would be my bride,
and prayed in her sweet dreams I fare the same -
so this my true heart to yours must confide.
If you should need me just whistle real slow -
you just put your lips together and...blow!
Copyright © Keith Trestrail | Year Posted 2014
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