Pretty face, don’t mean pretty heart.


Pretty face, don’t mean pretty heart.

 

She was so damn pretty and she moved through life like a panther in the free forest on the hunt.

 

Her eyes were black as coal and her voice sweeter than the Michigan Fall honey.

 

She told me. “Blind folks need love and kiss. They believe love is forever. The soulmate fantasy leave you lonely, waiting and dead in heart. Don’t believe in outer appearance. Pretty does, sometimes is pretty not. Be brave and careless, better to eat life-up without seeking perfect love and perfect kiss. If you want little, you won’t be disappointed.”

 

I loved her eyes. Cold and relentless and I loved her tantalizing tender voice. I loved her truthful and honest words.

 

She told me. “Pretty face, don’t mean pretty heart. Sometime women are killers, murderers of love and kindness. They will leave you bloody and dying without a second of regret. Please don’t love a cold-hearted woman.”

 

I loved her anyway and I told her. I love you sweet, I love you dirty. I love your honest words and the promises never given. We are seeking the same things. Good song, good dance and the good drink. When we make promises, promises are made to be broken.

 

She smiled and she laughed at my words. She brought me close and she whispered. “I will break your heart.”

 

I whispered to her. Too late pretty lady. No heart left to break.

 

Coyote