Denim domnicella

Bathed in the chaos of stars and vodka,
I rose from fallen raindrops.  
That hidden place where all beauty comes from
calls to me at night;
an echo of myself, she whisperes my name.
Tereska ~ softly strange, like the ghost of a kiss.  
 
Survival is bleak among the plumes of smoke and broken glass.
Concrete rivers are no place for tears,
they hit the ground hard and smolder like a spitfire.
I keep them close in the back pocket of a tight pair of jeans,  
between a switchblade and a rogue caress.
 
Sorrow has chosen the form of a woman,  
the desperate allure of a fragile creature,  
catching the eye of temptation.
It clings wonderfully: satin and sin, perfume and allusion.
I am her.
 
Where is the man who sings like a destructive angel - Elvis in leather.
 
(Artwork: Joan Blease)