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He leans on support beams
In a bar in New Orleans
As the shadows and corners
Stow devious things
She's there across hardwood
In a tight little dress
Drinks hard-hitting cider
Dark hair, swollen breast
He slides to her side;
He'd take nothing less
Eyes blaze sapphire
Harder than the rest
She closes in soft
Makes love with her hands
She leads him out back
Into black, misty lands
Her home is a relic,
Yellow paint, yellow dust
He doesn't see a thing
Only curves, only lust
Her rooms, empty caverns
Her white skin like ice
Her bed smells of mothballs,
Of old piss and lice
Her lips, silky leeches
Her teeth used with care
The tips of her fingers
Do more than their share
To transform his body
To blind skin and hair;
The last thing he smells
Is his blood in the air
She lies with him, wilting
For hours on end
Her own brassy man
Her own secret friend
"I'll love you forever,"
Her words at his ear
"'Til your bones turn to dust,
And I'm empty of tears."
Heh, Cyclefrance's poem inspired me. Bars and mating dances and whatnot. It happens to be a gloomy, tornado-warning day outside.
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