A Poem by Coyote Poetry
Easy to be blinded and accept less.
Beautiful woman sometime can get lost.
Love become just another four letter words used to create emotion and passion.
Wise men know the ending before the beginning.
Wild eyes and shapely bodies lead foolish men to hell and paradise in the same breathe.
I remember a red hair beauty.
She wanted it all and needed nothing.
She whispered to me at the Santa Cruz pier.
“Love is just another dirty word.
Follow me my new lover to my place near the sea.
I will show you secrets and undress the mystery of real life.”
I remember her blue eyes.
Clear as the blue sea and cold as a Winter kiss.
She reached into my chest.
She pulled out my heart.
It was dripping with blood that flowed on her hands and covered her body.
She smiled and she begin to eat my heart.
She whispered as the blood drips from her lips.
“You are just one more man, one more meal for a woman with a appetite
never to be fulfilled.”
I lay on the soft bed. Watching her perfect body move.
She wanted control and I didn’t mind.
I was waiting for the final blow.
She just smiled and held me tighter and she whispered.
“I won’t allow you to die. I shall give you the taste of my flesh.
Just enough to keep your hope alive.
Your time to die isn’t yet.”
I fall to her knees. Kissed her stomach like she was a goddess or saint.
I looked up and I saw a demon with blood and hate on her face.
She brought me up and gave me warm and deep kisses.
She was trying to suck the life out of my body.
She releases me and licked her lips as I fell to her feet.
She laid next to me.
Wrapped her perfect nude body around me.
I felt like a fly in a spider web.
She read my mind and she laughed at my thoughts.
She told me. “Your soul is mine now. You shall die when I want you to.
I will release you when my want for you falters. You are just one more
man to add to my hunger that can’t know real peace or joy.
Young men dream of princesses who danced in the sunlight and give you butterflies kisses.
Old men know. Life is just bricks. We keep adding more bricks till
we can’t feel or allow anyone end. We learn to accept less.
I hold the woman close and say no words.
She doesn’t know. I hear her cry in the dark hours of the night.
Private places for woman to release pain and swim in old memories.
Love is a four letter words. Dirty or clean. We need to hear them.
The neon highway can blind you from the truth.
I remember the old wise saying my Grandpa told me. “Take no chances. Have no fun.”
Love can be held by a thread or for a lifetime?
Written in 1993/Rewritten in 2004