Femme fatale sentir bleu

 
Oleander and ethanol
clung to her lips
like the faded bruise
from a lovers touch
skulls bloom dead crocus
with shadows of babies breath
in the iris of her eyes
in Bourrée
on the edge
where
passion
meets
pain
she finds
little comfort
when
all
she
was
looking
for
was
love

from my book Sid & Mary (Opal ) Terry Smith