Dingy Bars and Broken Things

She shimmers in the bottom of my glass
an effigy splashed in kerosene
ready and willing to burn it all to the ground
waiting for a spark to ignite her gorgeous
pale skin under the dull flicker of fluorescence
her curves superimpose on my sanity
a black and white print that screams
sex and sophistication

knuckles ache as whiskey
snap kicks me in the fractured ribs
insides are smouldering
the warm-numb floats up
dulls the sharp spike in my side
and I find myself lost
in the intent of her stare

her eyes glitter a pale blue
the kind that hypnotize a man into selling his soul
a poker game for the sucker
because he's only holding a pair
and she's got a full-house from a stacked deck

I can't quite remember what kind of dangerous
she wanted but she glided over as if her feet were
ethereal and she was tightrope walking on gossamer strings
of spider web

she dragged the chair on the timber floor
the grinding sound loud
even amidst the din
of an underwhelming dive
then sat staring at my black eye
as if it were a Rembrandt
as if the thought of all that violence
right at her fingertips could
assuage the throb dancing between her thighs
and give rise to the damp patch growing at the centre
of her desire

I smell desperation on her
as if she has doused herself in gasoline
the tremor of her hand
as she lights a cigarette gives her away
in this place of blood and dark sordid tales
I assume she's just another dame
that didn't know what was good for her

she licks her lips
a red that reminds you of ripe fruit
willing and ready to be plucked
urging you to sink your teeth in
to feel every sweet nectar flood your tongue
her voice glides silk smooth with a slight huskiness
that makes the hairs on my arms stand on end
she orders sex on the beach
unsure if she meant from me or
a drink from the bar keep

I nod in appreciation
and think sordid thoughts
of hair between my fingers
of hot wet things beguiling me
wonder if her wrists are maps
to the cosmos or simply
a place to hang onto
so I can bury the aches of these
dark nights into a place that feels more
than desolation and cries to god

she places a room number on the bar in front of me
the clack of heels as she takes her drink
and leaves me to pay for it...
Written by Commentonly
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Earth_Child The_Silly_Sibyl
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