She commands unconscious armies of us
whom has left with all the busyness,
the hubbub and commotion of an important
general. The air unsettled by her passage
is infectious; alive and vibrant
and calling out to some part of
distressed hearts that dare to dream, of
coming back to life.
She leaves lipstick stains
on cigarette butts in blown glass ashtrays
from antique stores that you freqeunt
in fur coats and sunglasses and wigs, colored
“Vibrant Lime Jelly”.
On the rims of wine glasses
you slosh uneducated pours of tempranillo
into and smash down, empty on
coffee table tops.
And on linen pillow cases where she slept
and you watched,
living lifetimes in the hours
before she rose.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s