The damns and the foolish.
The Damns and the foolish
A Poem by Coyote Poetry
Austin, Texas bars bring the best of people together
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.