sunset

on a keen day fall,
we did part ways,
days gone but i see,
in clarity like my vodka shot,
the time you had chosen,
all prepared,
the event in a certain theatrical
genious of your own,
in black stockings,
high heels,
a lavender dress with an Indian
brocade,
opal earrings,
bracelets,
perfumed and hair combed,
eyelids shining with bluish
cosmetics,
all that element of theatre in
those looks,
damned be the flavor of
subjugation,
in what was my love for you..
i picture what would have
happened,
if instead of listenining so
intensely,
to that beautifying and dramatic
filth,
you did construct for my sunset,
and think what if?
what if i did knock you down?
what if i clutched your hair,
and dragged you screaming,
and fighting around the room?
what if i flogged you until your
buttocks bled?
what if i did all this?
what if?
i shouid have torn your clothes,
ripped of your necklace,
brought my fist down your head!
but i reject this mental violence,
afraid of the secrets of such
brutallity,
just hitch my agony to a star