A Poem by Coyote Poetry
Some sickness is permanent.
Two strangers sat together in the Austin, Texas Jazz club. Discussing things that didn’t matter anymore.
The woman looked at the man. She told him. “I was once a beauty once and men begged for my attention.”
He whispered. “Beauty is one less burden to know and hold. For I can see what you really have become. You have nothing to hide now and you became what you truly are.”
He smiled. Kissed her forehead.
He told her. “Laughter and good drinks were the answer now.”
She smiled with a fake smile and she told him.. “You are ugly with hate. A sad end for a man, who held so many dreams once.”
He looked into the mirror and he saw an old and tire man. He told her. “Dreams are what the children hold on to. It comes a time when you realize. We are all greedy bastards wanting too much or too little.”
She looked away from him and he tried to explain his disease isn’t so special. “It is many ways to die. I have chosen my way to finish my journey.”
She asked him to come home with her. He thanked her for the kind offer and he caressed her face. Her eyes. Full of anger, would not accept his excuse for not desiring her.
Her voice. Changed to a softer tone. Like a Doctor finding a new disease. She wondered how any man could not desire her? She licked her lips and she told him. “I could teach you the hunger again? Make you want to swim in the heat of the warm flesh and sweet kiss.”
He gave her a deep and long hug and he whispered into her ear. “I danced in the turmoil of the flesh so often. I don’t desire to feel the hunger to enter into the game of the flesh anymore.”
He kissed her lips and her forehead. His hand felt the softness of red hair. Her eyes were shining now. She was still trying to figure a way to break down his wall of safety.
She whispered and brought him closer to her body. “I will make you yearn for me.
Men are but fool’s wanting for a purpose.”
He smiled and he told her. “In time we all become the master or the slave. Looking for someone to pray to or become the servant. A screw-up game of give just enough. Love has become the most worthless of the four letters words.”
She asked him to go home with her again and he lifted his drink to her. He told her. “You are still young and may have a chance? Honey, please walk away from this bar and me. Only the walking dead are waiting for death at the Jazz club. Are here.”
She kissed his face many times. Young woman with so many scars and she whispered. “I love you old Poet.”
He watch her walk away and he does a silence prayer. He prayed for her to be Okay. Don’t end up twisted up like him and have no place to be.
But the darkness and loneliness of bars and taverns.