Watching her sit with her crossed legs
And her gaze upwards
Like the world is too petty
For her eyes to surrender.
She was magnificent, yes
But her looks feigned a lie
Her eyes could **** with intense fire
Her scent was amicable
For her preying hands
And if a being so unfortunate
Crosses her path
Or meets her eyes
She springs like a cheetah
And rips them apart,
Metaphorically, of course.

.......

My eyes wander off

.......

His frenzied looks
And unshaved face
Ruffled up clothes
Looks like he has had his worst day
Wonder what's got him so worked up
Must be a hangover
Must have had a drink too much
Last night
Yes, I can see a wife
Beaten up in an alcohol-fueled mania.
But those petunias in his hands
Beautiful
What a contrast to the man himself
A mistress?
Or an attempt to gain forgiveness
From his wife?

.......

Sipping the best local tea
Sit back
And let my mind have its spree

.......

Pick pocket
Such an adorable face
Blue-eyed, her tiny hands
Slipping in and out
Procuring knick knacks and wallets.
Life was never fair
Mother's sick and in a tarpaulin roofed
Shack off the main street.
Dad's a drunk
And she's had enough with that nonsense.
Her timed precision  and skilled fingers
Workings its way for a loaf and
The extra change for her mother
Curled up like a ball
In pain.

.....

Change for the tea
And morning paper.
Picking up a stride
Take a left from the plaza
Into a throng of living bodies,
And to be one among
The many lives
Toiling,
Living,
**Breathing.

She bared her soul to him
And gave him the chance to peek.
Everyday she slept in his arms
Her dreams were as vivid as ever,
Her sweaty palms and palpitations
Couldn't lie
Not when she bared her soul to this guy.
Right from the start
In an incredulous altruism,
She gave her all to him.
He plucked on her heartstrings
And made a song out of her.
She danced to his breath
And to the pounding in his chest.
Her smooth skin like silk in his arms,
He wrapped her in a paradise
In even moments that seemed unwise.
His eyes searching in profound wonder,
Unwinding, revealing, removing her layers.
And with every layer stripped, she grew beautiful.
She wept joy
In every moment of bliss.

That day when she hung herself
He had but a million questions.
Every memory created
Every moment made
Recounting, recalling.
And all he could see was
A broken angel
Her wings could never be fixed
And through all that soul baring
That's the one tiny detail he missed.
He was her addiction
He was her catalyst.
The zenith of her joy, reached
Her repressed guilt burst into flames.
Dreams had turned to nightmares
And even his presence couldn't subdue it.
Her lights were turning dim
She was broken even before she realized.
And all he was left with
Were memories
Her touch,
Her smile,
Her eyes.
She was broken,
Yes,
But she was an angel.

I can't write like you do
I can't really compose
Grace has always eluded me
In movement and in prose

You write of such big things
But they are still all the same
Me? I can't really toy
With ideas so insane

I'm not a professional wordsmith
My art hasn't been trained
When I write, the words flow easy
Unabashed and Untamed

You and your words are sculpted
Precisely, with finesse
But with a subdued gloss and lack luster
So twisted so suppressed

And now I see my dear self
Finally in a clear way
Not in my movements or in the glass
but on my inked page

So if you ask me, dear self
Which cage do I choose?
I'd choose my dented brass one
Instead of your golden noose.