The damns and the foolish.


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The Damns and the foolish

A Poem by Coyote Poetry

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Austin, Texas bars bring the best of people together

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The Damns and the Foolish

The ways and means committee at the local Tavern sat together in a oasis of gin and whiskey.

Talk of torrid and tarnished love leave us in the sacrament state of loneliness.

I have joined  the group of the damns and foolish many month ago. Protection of the long Island ice teas leave you safe.

One quiet and lonely summer night. A Blue Eyes temptress seduced me with offer of warm kisses and splendor of passion.

She left me with a sweet whiskey kisses and a long embrace. She whisper” Never love a woman with her emotion and heart dead and buried.”

When I met her at a poetry reading. She worn a talon of a dead animal.

Her icy and impotent blue eyes left me in a lapse of a placid and upcoming pitfalls.

She told me I was handsome. She whispered” I  want a savior.”

Her sultry and preordain lies and stories open up a un-easy and disturbing paradox.

That she slowly open the door to my heart and led me into a wishful and tranquil will to love her.

Her flowing red hair and long legs intrigue me to try to tame her. To create a union of two torrid souls.

She told me” I’m permanent scars and tarnished.” Her tattoos body was a map of her journey. She looks to the moon and sky. Whisper ” Pardon me  for not allowing anyone to perpetrate my  harden soul.”

I told her. “In the solitude of a vortex. We need to expose our soul and dreams.”

Her eyes burned me with anger. She yelled ” I’m shrouded in hate.
Never will risk shades of love to open my heart to love again.”

I accepted her. Learning every part of her beautiful body. Listen to the story of every tattoo on her perfect and beautiful body.

I never exposed my true feelings to her.

We danced in a raw, risky and a salvage love. We scheme great journeys and dreams of great victories.

On a cold Winter morning. She whisper ” I must depart.” She was leaving in the morning sun.

I told her. I knew the prelude to the story.

I bring her closer. I whisper” I will be here for you when you become lost.  And need the mercy of a friend.”

Now I sit with the men and woman at the local Tavern.

I describe a portrait of a wounded Angel.

Coyote
March 2009

© 2011 Coyote Poetry

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