m a d e l e i n e

  
   
   
 
   
she is french    
   
call her madeleine    
she squeals oui    
   
the sound coming    
from down below    
her Adam's apple    
    
fragile and inviting    

her wild hair    
is midday sun    
an alpine forest    
on fire smelling    
like rare lilacs    
   
madeleine has    
a naked abandon    
a prized innocence    
   
her thin lips    
extend every time    
to form a smile    
as real as the blood    
spreading 'neath    
the peach skin    
   
laughs from    
time to time    
   
and  
   
every time she does    
   
her lashes kiss    
and her fingers    
brush against    
her collar bone    
with her heart    
drumming    
a tad higher    
just for an instant    
   
calls me monsieur    
plays with my amulet    
juts her lip and shrugs    
every time my english    
eludes her    
   
she smells of red wine    
and lavender and sex    
her thin arms sway    
as she walks to fetch    
more drinks for us    
   
once everyone has left
   
i think she is a mermaid    
but then mermaids are    
heartbreakers always    
without fail    
   
but what the heck    
   
a bottle of burgundy    
is always good for    
the lonely hunter