Quiver

Literature -
Empty Words
 Dawn
 
She had the look of darkish decadence,
the kind that catches you by your iris and won't let go.
The kind that pulls on your wrist like a magnet
covered in poison Ivy, itching you...
I wanted to scratch.
I wanted to touch those alabaster classic cheeks
with their dewy texture, all illuminated and perfect
under the red lights of her stage.
And as she wailed her body moved.
Not serpentine, not witchy...
but sultry, seductive.
Something deep and soulful urged her hips like hands
caressing her thighs and lacy buttocks
like a wind whisper through a willow tree
as she moved behind that Fender so well.
I watched her fingers--
Sure and strong they found their place.
I found my self biting that fleshy part of my lip
thinking of other places those fingers go.
She was dark majesty...
Mojo of the best bayous,
with tiny black wisps of hair
falling like blackened angel feathers
about her perfect little bones.
Pretty black mouth with pretty white teeth.
Glittery lids covering a treasure of shifting shades of blue
that even the Hope diamond could not compare to
in days of French conquest and striking beauty.
And her's were light besides--exotic and wild.
Her voice like Lilac Wine.
Her face like a "Time" I wasn't born in, but ached for.
And that was only the fooling of my shoulder's Devil,
because we all know it was not the "Time"
for which my body swayed to the sound--
bottom lip still locked in my bite.
But beauty flees in the wee hours of the morning...
and she took the rays of moonlight with her as she left.
No more silver streaks of serenity for me.
I had her voice and face in my head,
and all I wanted was to get inside her mind
seeking what lies inside of her most delicate hidden places.
I was standing in that club long after she'd gone,
wondering why they named her Dawn...
Until I saw the sun come up;
and her face was painted upon it.
I can only wonder if she knew--
If she could read such things in my face,
and if so, would she laugh?
Surely my words could not describe
the best of her--and as injustice
I cannot crave but to write the wrong with action instead.
Good thing for futures...
And that I do not live in the past. (entirely)
I will have her yet...--r.g.