deepundergroundpoetry.com
Doyle
Took the night train,
swept on board with little scant
for anyone else, thing else.
These dusty belongings, meager offerings,
my long cloak, cloaked in black, black as my sinful heart,
as the night, cold, uninviting.
as It was when I rode the night elevator, be it a revolver;
Sent packing in haste, been fired point blank, as the expression
goes, showed, shows,
to anyone willing to glance for longer than permitted,
thinking victim or righteous believer or in most cases,
intriguing woman.
Though glance my way once too often and you'll fall foul to my temptation
along with the glint on the blade reflecting right back within my grasp
hearing you gasp your last, my breathing fast, faster, rapturous,
sensuous on my mind, my blade in your eye, you'll look no more.
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