There’s Always a Story

Cobblestones
slick with water
with algae
centuries
drop after drop
building a story
etched
into each brick.
Fog
stretching
reaching
’round corners
sick fingers
niches found
crannies poked
horror bore a new face
a new weapon.
Stalking
through the blackness
seeking
smelling
miserly men
contemptible cocotte
selling 
money making
even as pain
roars
blood lust 
crack of the whip…..
made within these sewers
bones turned to armor
stalk the death
brought me here
as I become the reaper.
To madness.
To desire.
To memories…..
barbed tight round
unable to breath
reaching 
begging
even as you die on your knees.
©Feb. 21/21
Picture via Pinterest 

Perfectly Perfect

Perfectly coiffed
lips ruby red
eyes
lined
winter blue contacts
linen crisp
all heads turn
watching
walk
confidence
how
where
is it taught
or
is she born with it?
Exuding
men
women
fall beneath her spell
gazed upon
utterly captivated
if only for a moment.
Standing 
hidden behind column
weary
eyes stained crimson
setting sun
black tar welling
sucking 
dragging her down
even as she wove a spell.
Wiping clean
staring
watery blue
her real color
pallid
yellow
her real tones
corset
hiding her flaws.
Towering tall
haunted by perfection
never doubt
the depth
of her affection.
©Feb. 7/21
Picture via Pinterest