Thursday, January 7, 2010

The muse in the morning

In jukebox gleam
black silk and dark hair
flow like a river
down her shape-shifting
jaguar body.  Watching
her walk to the john
the way she stalks
through the crowd
hips swaying to
a country tune
seems a revelation.
Around her curves
he feels the
words of a poem slide.
All night she dances
like an enchanted queen.
Every step her
spiked heels take
tattoos a scar
into his ribs.

Daylight catches her
departure   snagging
on the stain spilled
on her dress  tangling
in her smoke-dulled hair.
Shadows dark as bruises
swell under her eyes
lipstick remnants
cling to her chapped lips.
Without a glance
at her poet she
lights a cigarette
blows a smokey zero
draws her face
into a squint
as the sun
scrabbles up the sky
jabs the morning
like a migraine.


(c)Serena Fusek

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