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Image for the poem mood vigilant: blue

mood vigilant: blue



(the streets are utterly bleak in nocturnal hours; there
are no lamplights. when the moon is in dim phases, the
shadows are cloaked, treacherous & seductive as a
femme fatale.)

the language of love is silent, but apparently she didn’t
buy that theory. she had an urge to tell me the gilded
ways of her emotions, using pretty words that smelled
like flowers & stormed the savage bastions of my heart.

she loved loving & she loved talking about it, & the only
way to shut her up was to kiss her. so I did.

it was a very good kiss, with the proper adornments: lavish
measures of heat & firmness. she kissed like she meant it;
she made me enjoy having two tongues in my mouth.

sure, it was so good, it was dangerous for a desperado like
me. I’ve been shotgunned by the sparkle in a dame’s eyes
enough to be done with it. these days I prefer to run with
whores who run with the wolves.

I’ve drifted too long in the hazy alleys of black&white; I
cannot perceive the rainbow, which has been obliterated.
but not entirely: blue still remains, deep & dolorous. the
color of my oppression, the blue of my sorrow. the discordant
beats of my sundered heart.

I tell her to run, run away. if she stays, I will beat her. & when
I have nothing else to give, I give her these words, as pretty as
I can make them:

‘when you find the place where love is, go.
and make your bed there…’



Written by JohnFeddeler
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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