she manages <br />to have someone... <br />(SCARCE is her word) <br />firm is her grasp <br />he pulls her close <br />hot venom sweet <br />joy-slithering <br />like Cleo's asp <br />this afterlife <br />of neverlands <br />and promises <br />once made to me <br />by serpent same <br />on distant bed <br />when i believed <br />his eyes like she <br />i understand <br />the afterthoughts <br />of aftershave <br />and safety found <br />his scarf of gray <br />and burgundy <br />the after-bliss <br />that hangs around <br />yet time betrays <br />the dream devout <br />as snakes are charmed <br />and uncharmed fast <br />still i see you <br />in lavender <br />gray Easter skies <br />all overcast <br />i recognize <br />the aftermath <br />the sucker-punch <br />the 'last-2-know' <br />1- of-many- <br />toys of Satan- <br />the after-stench <br />of afterglow <br /> <br /> **it lingers...<br /><br />ToddMichael St. Pierre<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/down-low-dane/
